


The Meier Job

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Within the dream share community, it is generally held to be nearly impossible to hold multiple stable levels of a dream and that inception is a myth. Markneuheiten and Columbia Industries are rivals in pharmaceutical and instrumentation research. Eames is hired by Markneuheiten to make sure they come out ahead of Columbia in that race, and he plans to attempt the impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting The Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Dovetails with Croik's [The Stein Job.](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/inceptionbigbang/works/334431) Master Post at LJ is [here,](http://croik.livejournal.com/117886.html) with links to the art post.
> 
> Many thanks to my own artist, Exhaledtroop, for visualizing scenes and being so great to work with. That made my first Big Bang very fun! [Here be artses!](http://exhaledtroop.livejournal.com/63390.html) If you prefer LJ/DW links, my own master fic post is [here.](http://eustacia-vye28.livejournal.com/620577.html)

Eames slid into a seat at the bar and flashed a tired smile at the pregnant blonde wiping down the counter. "Katya, you look ravishing as always."

The blonde made a soft humph of annoyance and put down the dish towel. Her hair was tied up in a messy twist, and she looked down her nose at Eames, full lips quirking into a smile. "We're closed, you know. Even your charm won't get me to open another bottle for you."

"You wound me." His blue eyes twinkled at the woman, and he instantly felt a little less tired. "It's been a long night, and I wasn't here for free booze."

"That's a change," Katya quipped, leaning against the bar. "What, then?"

"Lying low?" Eames offered with a smile. He was dressed like a businessman, in a crisp dark gray suit with a light green shirt and dark green tie. His blond hair wasn't even mussed, and the jacket of the suit hid his holster well. "Like I said, long night."

"I have little to offer you," Katya said with a sigh. "With Sergei the way he is..."

Eames frowned at Katya. "Still?"

"We knew the risks," Katya said sharply, frowning at him. When she realized that he wasn't criticizing her, she relaxed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. You know Sergei. He stayed behind so that the others could complete the job." She rubbed at her jaw tiredly. "Nicky will be going in with the others soon. They won't let me go in, of course."

"Of course," Eames replied, nodding. "How deep in is he, do you think?"

Katya snorted. "It was supposed to be simple, but when is anything with the Vory simple?" She picked up the dish towel and rubbed at a stubborn spot on the bar counter, not meeting Eames' eyes. "The bastard was militarized, Nicky said. So Sergei did his job to keep the others safe, at the cost of his own mind. He's lost now. Nicky can say it was an additive in the mixture, but we all know it isn't so." She looked up at Eames with empty eyes. "You need to leave, _da?"_ She waited until Eames' reluctant nod. "Then perhaps we may help each other after all. Nicky insists on having cleaner compounds, and you know the cleanest ones come from Kenya."

"He doesn't leave to enter the field," Eames reminded Katya.

"Of course." She reached under the counter for a thick envelope. "But you bring this to him, he'll send a courier back to Istanbul. And it gets you away from police. Your nice clothes will only fool them for so long."

They smiled at each other, and Eames put the envelope in his jacket pocket. Katya didn't blink at the flash of the USP Compact in his shoulder rig. "I'll help you, Katya. I hope they do get Sergei out of limbo."

Katya gave him a pained smile. "There is much to live for, if only he would remember it."

Eames nodded and patted her hand gently. "Good luck to you all."

 _"Do svedanya,"_ Katya murmured. "I hope to see you again with Sergei at my side."

Eames couldn't help but smile at her as he pushed back from the bar. "Just in case there _was_ a contaminant," he said, patting his breast pocket. "You can never be too safe."

"Of course not," Katya agreed. She continued wiping down the bar as Eames slipped out the door as silently as he had come in.

***

Mombasa was just as hot as Eames remembered it, and he had dressed accordingly. It didn't take him long to find the location where he knew Yusuf would be; not many people knew of him, but the ones that did always came back for repeat business. He was seated at his desk balancing books, bottles with yellow liquid behind him. None were labeled, and Eames knew from past experience that he knew which bottle was which. He had his glasses perched on his nose, the chain dangling down from the earpieces to hang around his neck. Yusuf liked neutral colors and flowing fabrics, especially in the midday heat. It also helped him blend in with his surroundings when he left his office. Eames knew that Yusuf had involvement in other things than simply chemistry, though he didn't pry too deeply. It wouldn't do to make a nuisance of himself and have the chemist start prying into his affairs in return.

"Yusuf," he said with a smile, entering the office. "Pleasure to see you again."

Yusuf looked up from his ledger, finger marking his place. His brown eyes took in Eames' artfully careless appearance. "To what do I owe this honor?" he asked in measured tones.

Eames carefully reached into his jacket for Katya's envelope, moving with exaggerated slowness. He wasn't carrying a gun, but he didn't want the lazy looking Kenyan in the corner to mistake his move for a threat. Yusuf didn't look dangerous, but he didn't have to be. He was a valuable player in the field, and there were those willing to lay down their lives to protect him from idiots thinking to make a quick sale. "This is from Katya."

Marking his place with a post-it, Yusuf took the envelope and counted its contents quickly. "She is quite desperate, then. So the rumors are true? Sergei is lost?"

"Possibly for good." Eames pursed his lips. "Likely for good. His family won't let it be, but no one's ever come back."

"Well." Yusuf tucked the envelope away in one of his drawers. "Perhaps he doesn't have reason enough. It all depends on the dream, after all."

Eames found the comment creepy, and said nothing as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He closed his fist over the poker chip in his pocket, feeling its well worn surface. Yusuf merely smiled at his stoic silence and leaned back in his chair under Eames' watchful gaze. "Katya will get her compounds by tomorrow. I will see to that. Have you further business for me today?"

"Not today, Yusuf."

"Very well, then. Take care, Eames," Yusuf told him gravely.

That was a different closing than usual, and Eames flicked his gaze to the Kenyan in the corner. He still sat there with his pipe, milky eyes gazing into the distance as if Eames didn't matter in the slightest. "Have there been whispers about me?"

"There are always whispers. It depends on what you want them to mean."

"Yusuf..."

"I would stay away from Turkey for a while," Yusuf said, folding his hands over his stomach and peering over the rim of his glasses. "It would not be safe for you there. Some believe you are at fault for what happened to Sergei. We both know differently, of course, but you are a much easier target."

Eames swore under his breath. So much for relying on Katya and her family's contacts. Dammit.

"Europe has no whispers. Neither does Kenya." Yusuf smiled. "I would know. I hear a great many things in my line of work."

"I suppose you do. Thank you, Yusuf."

Yusuf smiled at Eames. "You always carry interesting news my way, Eames. It would be a shame for that to end."

"Yes, it would," Eames agreed with a nod. "You take care as well, Yusuf."

The midday Mombasa sun was stiflingly hot when Eames left the office. He knew his flat in the city would still be safe, but he didn't want to stay in the area for long. If Turkey wasn't safe, someone might shake down Katya looking for him. She normally wouldn't roll over and give him up; they had too much history for that, but Sergei was her life. If he was the one being threatened, Eames knew he didn't rank as highly in her affections. It wasn't pretty, but it was the truth. It would be safer to cut and run and see where things went. When it was a safer time, he could check in on Katya.

It was time to look into Europe again.

***

Jensen was a tall, thin man with dark hair and a pale complexion. He wore glasses with round lenses and looked more like a librarian or a curator from the British Museum. He dressed in worn suit jackets over rumpled slacks, which only added to the absent minded professor look. He was much deadlier than he looked, and Eames knew him from the days when he first defected from the British military. They were sitting at a cafe in Cologne, Germany. It was one of the few places that Jensen felt safe as a British expat. He stirred his tea with precise movements, then placed his spoon on the saucer before taking a sip. Eames knew better than to rush him when he was thinking.

"England is out, obviously," Jensen said as he placed his teacup back on the saucer.

"Obviously," Eames replied, managing to keep his voice neutral. Jensen didn't like sarcasm, and he was known to send people into more dangerous situations than they were capable of handling if he felt slighted. "You know the best markets in Europe."

"Are you going to stay in Germany?"

Eames frowned. He had racked up thousands of miles in the past few weeks, and he was really tired of planes. "I'll go where the best markets are."

Nodding, Jensen took another sip of his tea. "There is something potentially in Berlin. Have you ever heard of Columbia Industries or Markneuheiten?"

"No. Should I have?"

Jensen smiled thinly. "It is not well known, but they are major competitors in biomedical technology. Columbia in particular, though Markneuheiten is looking to expand from pharmaceuticals into instrumentation."

"How do they mean to do such a thing?" Eames asked, a wry twist to his lips.

"Pharma is big business," Jensen said, syllables falling crisply and precisely. "I can convince my contacts that they have particular need of alternative resources to get what they want. Columbia's main offices are in London. Their Berlin office was built specifically to needle Markneuheiten."

Eames couldn't help but snort. "That's simply asking for trouble. Too many possible avenues of attack, too many things that can go wrong."

"Of course." Jensen took another sip of tea. "It was part and parcel of their plan, you realize."

"Give the enemy an obvious target and they'll be too distracted to realize it's not the real one." Eames nodded as Jensen touched the side of his nose in agreement. "Well, then. How deep are their pockets?"

"Deep enough for whatever you have in mind, I'm sure." Jensen smiled thinly at Eames. "Plus my finder's fee, of course."

"Without question," Eames agreed. "What would be the objective for this particular exercise in corporate espionage?"

"I'll leave the particulars on how to get it done up to you, but Markneuheiten wants certain members of Columbia's development team to stop their work. Obviously, it cannot be traced back to them and should look rather natural."

"Well," Eames began, leaning back slightly in his seat. "That will be difficult in the real world. But then, difficult is one of my specialties."

Jensen finished his tea. "So shall I tell Markneuheiten you'll work with them?"

The smile he flashed Jensen was completely mercenary. "I'm always up for a challenge, you know that. Do you have any other takers for this?"

"You can pick your team, if you like. Which name are you using for this?"

"Eames will suffice," he replied, standing. "You set up the meeting, I'll see what I can do."

"Your talents will be much appreciated, I'm sure."

Considering the fact that Jensen didn't even know all of what Eames could do, it was praise indeed. "I'll keep in touch."

***

Eames took a train from Cologne to Berlin once he was able to contact a former associate that had defected from Interpol. She had worked for the agency for years, and had been the victim of both kidnapping and mind crime. The kidnapping had been a separate incident from the mind crime aspect, and wasn't something she ever talked about. Being the subject of an extraction for her Interpol pass codes was how Eames had met her. Somehow he had come out of that particular job unscathed, though the rest of his team wasn't as lucky. She went by Jenny Ehrlich in Germany and Austria, and she agreed to meet Eames to discuss possibly acting as his point. Jensen had been pretty clear that there was no deadline on this particular job as long as it was done properly and the employer wasn't blamed for anything. By the same token, if Eames appeared to drag his feet, they would feel free to move on to different players in dream share.

Jenny was average height, with brown hair and brown eyes. She was fair skinned and blended fairly easily in European crowds, which was why she tended to stay there. She knew Europe fairly well and had contacts on both sides of the law. She liked Berlin over Cologne, and Eames was willing to meet her there since Columbia Industries had a scheduled meeting with him the following week.

"Darling, you look as wonderful as ever," Eames said, meeting her in the lobby of the Hotel Berlin. "Are we staying in or heading out elsewhere?"

"Come on up with me," Jenny told him, letting him take her arm in a gallant gesture. She led him into the hotel and hit the button for the elevator. "I did a thorough sweep, though there's no reason to think it's suspect here. I pay enough for the privilege, but you can never be too certain."

"Of course," Eames told her approvingly. "I've only just arrived in the city."

"Am I that important to meet?" Jenny asked, lip curled in amusement.

"Always," he said with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. It was a dance of innuendo and half truths, one they were used to. Eames enjoyed poking at his coworkers that way; being completely straitlaced and stoic wasn't his style and made for very boring months leading up to a job. The jobs themselves were always adrenaline rushes, and the payouts generally helped cover the downtime between interesting jobs.

"Flatterer," Jenny said with a smile as the elevator opened to her floor. "Come on, then. We have things to discuss."

Her room was the quiet understated elegance that she preferred. Jenny tended to dress in business casual, making it that much easier for her to blend into the upscale and business districts of various cities. She handed Eames the room service menu, which he appreciated. It was late for lunch and somewhat early for dinner, but he hadn't eaten in some time and ordered himself a light meal and a wine to match. Jenny smiled in amusement and followed his lead in ordering a dinner item. She did appreciate the money he handed her and tucked it away in her wallet.

"Well, then. I'm assuming this is dream share and not money laundering or gun running," Jenny began without preamble, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Eames nodded as he sat at the desk to face her. "Markneuheiten," he said.

"Oh. Very posh clientele you have these days," Jenny teased.

"They can't all be on the run from Interpol," Eames returned evenly.

Jenny nodded, conceding the point. "What are we extracting, then?"

"That's just it. We're probably looking at something entirely different."

"Oh?" she asked, intrigued. That little eyebrow loft she had was an adorable looking trait that she could mimic even when she was bored to tears, but Eames could tell that this wasn't an affectation. Extractions were common, and it was just a question of how a team would go in to get what they wanted. There were rumors about minds becoming more and more hostile the more attempts were made in a single session, even if the subject was sedated between extraction attempts. Eames had to repeat an extraction attempt twice, and he had always been vigilant about subconscious security. He could tolerate a little danger in the dreaming, but if there were threats to the integrity of his mind, he pulled out of the job. No matter how much he liked this particular persona and how much he prided himself on the professional reputation he was building with it, no job was worth going insane for.

He pushed away thoughts of Sergei. The Russian pushed boundaries and took jobs involving unstable minds and high levels of risk. Someone had to, but that risk meant that dreams could easily turn and move out of his control. Sergei was good at what he did, but even he was caught now. Eames hadn't been involved in that particular job that now left him little more than brain dead, but he had known all the players involved. That was bad enough as far as rumor mills went.

"Markneuheiten will pay a large but as yet undefined sum to have its competitor stop R&D." Eames paused at the knock at the door. "That was fast."

"I pay for the privilege of good service," Jenny said with a smile. She took in the room service order and they began eating in silence. About halfway through her own meal, Jenny looked at Eames thoughtfully. "This is dreaming, not a call for execution. This implies changing someone's mind." Eames nodded, still chewing his own mouthful of food. "That can't be done."

"Why not?" Eames challenged when he could comfortably speak.

Jenny opened her mouth, but didn't say anything right away. She frowned and looked at Eames thoughtfully. "It hasn't been done before."

"That doesn't mean it can't."

"You would never be able to do something like that in a standard dream."

"Who says it has to be standard?"

"Levels?" Jenny put down her fork and let out a sigh. "I'll have you know, I've never been involved in a job that successfully kept another level of the dream stable."

"Were they using regulation somnacin?"

"Of course. Good enough chemists willing to adjust the formula are hard to find."

"In Europe, perhaps," Eames replied with a grin. "I've been in a second level for a time. It collapsed before anything useful could be done with it, but it _can_ be done."

Jenny merely blinked at him. "So you're talking about..."

"Inception."

She took a deep swallow of her own wine. "Somehow, you get involved in all sorts things you really shouldn't," Jenny began slowly.

"Does that mean you won't be involved?"

"Hell, no," she scoffed. "I'm interested to see how you think this can work."

Eames leaned back in his chair slightly and smiled at the woman in front of him. "We'd need a formidable team, in the first place. Everything would need to be tailored just so. Do you have an extractor or architect you work with regularly enough?"

"You wouldn't be extractor on this one?"

"The more influences we have, the better."

Jenny nodded and was thoughtful as she finished her dinner. "Gubet is working with a pair of Americans now, so he's out for an architect."

"Americans are in on this now? Whatever is the world coming to?"

Jenny snickered and put her dishes aside. She swirled her wine in her glass thoughtfully. "From what I hear, they're pretty good and making names for themselves. There must have been some kind of formal training in America, which means there is some kind of story there as to why they left. Their military sanctions are stringent, from what I understand."

"Isn't there always a story?" Eames asked in arch tones, pushing his own dish aside. "We all get into this for a reason, and we all stay for a reason. Who are these Americans?"

"Dominic Cobb and Arthur," Jenny said. Her tone didn't have any particular inflection to it, so Eames couldn't tell if she thought they were actually good or if the rumors were all hype. "Christophe mentioned them to me, and thought that they were a solid team. Gubet is... Well. You've met the man."

"Good architect, but not under pressure." Eames drummed his fingers along the tabletop. "Would we be able to drag them into this? If Christophe thinks they're solid, then perhaps they're worth taking a chance on."

"I don't have direct contact information, unfortunately. It would take some time to track them down. They don't stay in one place for long."

Eames filed that fact away to contemplate at another time. That kind of thing could be excessive paranoia, a poor support network or active investigations. Regardless, he didn't want to waste time in tracking them down just yet. There were plenty of others in Europe that might be willing to entertain attempting the impossible and successfully sustaining a two level dream. He was sure Yusuf could craft the compounds they needed. He was forever tinkering on them, leading to slight variations in the shades of yellow inside the clear glass bottles on his shelves. Eames never asked who he experimented on; he didn't need or want to know. Plausible deniability was a wonderful thing in this line of work.

"If Gubet is off the table, who else would you be willing to work with? You'd know the local talent best."

Jenny lofted him with a raised eyebrow. "Not looking to import someone familiar?"

"I know a chemist I'll deal with for compounds." His lips quirked slightly in amusement. "We're on our own for dosing them, but he's talented and it's worth the hassle of doing all of the calculations ourselves. Or, if he's feeling particularly kind, he may do the maths for us so we're actually likely to wake up." Jenny snorted and rolled her eyes; Eames knew the last chemist she had worked with was brilliant with the decanting and utter rubbish when dealing with people. The man had made Yusuf's professorial stance seem downright warm and fuzzy. "I know you, and I know you'll get the job done. The importance in this is less if I like the other team members than if they're going to do their part in making it all happen. If extraction itself can be delicate work, inception would be something akin to neurosurgery. I'd rather have the best."

"In that case, I'm flattered you rank me among them," Jenny replied with a nod. "What about Nash? Have you ever worked with him?"

"Once. He did good work on that particular job. Is he available?"

Jenny shrugged. "I'll find out and let you know. When are you going to get details from Markneuheiten?"

"I'm meeting them in a week. If we can have the rest of a team assembled by then, we can start planning as soon as we know more about the subject."

Jenny nodded and lifted her glass in a belated toast. "I'll get to work on the underground. It's going to be an adventure."

Eames drained the last of his wine as he answered her toast. "They always are. Let's make the impossible possible."

***  
***


	2. Finding The Angles

The man in front of Eames had stern features, lines like etched grooves in his face. Time hadn't been kind to this man, and his hair was iron gray shot with white. Eames wasn't easily intimidated, and this man didn't seem to appreciate that. He hadn't introduced himself directly, preferring to remain nameless throughout the transaction. It was easy enough to tell that this was the man that Eames was supposed to meet and not an impostor. It wasn't hard to figure out which of Markneuheiten's bigwigs this was, and why he didn't want his name freely associated with dream share. He passed over a manila folder, and for all the world it looked like an ordinary business lunch. "There is a team of developers at our competitor. They have pharmacists in their employ looking to develop new compounds, new medicines. They also have another team looking at new designs for instruments. They have a new Berlin office that we think is the instrumentation branch," he said, his German accent heavy and no nonsense.

Eames had been tempted to slouch and behave like an unruly teenager in response to the prospective employer, but he managed to restrain the impulse. He opened up the folder and looked at the surveillance photos of four different pharmacists. "What do you want the end result to be?" he asked, his own accent sharpening in response to his employer's.

"We need them to stop manufacture and research. It doesn't matter how you do it so long as our company's name isn't involved in the matter."

"There are certain avenues that might be helpful for that," Eames began in a matter of fact tone of voice. He carefully watched this man's expression for subtle shifts and tells. Jenny would look into Markneuhetien's management staff as a matter of course, but it always helped to see what kind of man he was dealing with. Sometimes it was the details he picked up during an initial meeting that made the difference between life or death in the aftermath of a job. Eames could often tell the sort of man or woman he was dealing with during an initial meeting, and he could gauge further interaction accordingly. This one was the callous kind, where individual lives didn't weigh quite as much as the bottom line did.

"You did come recommended," he told Eames.

"Of course. What I have in mind is not without risk, of course, but it would be our minds on the line and not yours."

The man's eyes sharpened. "There are whispers about that at the country club." He swept his gaze across Eames' impassive expression. "It's not common."

"No, it is not."

"And it's not cheap."

"It is definitely not," Eames agreed, no inflection in his tone.

"But if you can do that..."

"No one else would be capable," Eames assured him. "My team would be able to do what needs to be done to make our particular subject fall into line."

"Just like that?" the employer scoffed. "I'd need to see that to believe it."

"Minds are malleable, fragile things." The smile on Eames' face was mercenary and just menacing enough to make this corporate bigwig pause. It gave Eames a very perverse sort of satisfaction; corporate types thought their financial clout was the only power that mattered in the world. They could do with more reminders that there were other forces at work in the universe that were not under their control.

"Columbia Industries has an advance press release stating that they've got instrumentation in the pipeline for a late fall release. Delay it or kill the project."

Eames nodded and tucked the folder away in his attache case after confirming that he had contact information for this man. Apparently he was an associate vice president of research and acquisitions. Eames didn't doubt that he had other unofficial duties within Markneuheiten, or that he was angling to take on a different role within the company. The man had that kind of feel to him, as if he belonged more in the criminal underworld than in corporate practice.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Herr Stein," Eames said, shaking his hand.

Looking vaguely ill at his name being mentioned aloud, Stein merely nodded. "Of course, Mr. Eames. Do stay in touch."

"Absolutely," Eames assured him.

The clock was ticking, and he had work to do.

***

Nash was a thin, pale man with a perpetually nervous expression on his face. He dressed casually and his hair hung in lank clumps around his face, his dark eyes taking in details as if he was a caged thing. Eames wasn't sure if he liked the man, but that wasn't necessary for the job. He was as highly recommended as Gubet, which was the important thing in Nash's favor. It didn't matter if he was an ass, as long as he could build the levels they needed.

Of course, the nervousness was likely due to the fact that they were asking him to build _two_ levels for this and not just one.

"That's impossible. You'll never keep the dreams stable. It's hard enough to keep one layer stable long enough to do what needs to be done," he protested.

"My chemist does the impossible on a regular basis," Eames lied cheerfully. It was just enough to relax the set in Nash's shoulders slightly, and he stopped looking like a caged rabbit. "You just do your part with the levels. You will build it based on the information we get, and you'll need to tailor it to the task at hand."

Nash rubbed his palms against his corduroys and his eyes flicked from Eames to Jenny. "Two levels. Even if you could do it..."

"You worry about building, Nash," Jenny told him in a firm tone of voice. Eames sometimes felt that it was based off her time at Interpol, perhaps the same tone she used for getting new recruits back into line. "Our job will be to keep things stable once we're in the dream."

"Who's going to be the dreamers, then?" he asked, looking between the two of them. "There would have to be a dreamer for each level."

"Not going in with us?" Eames asked, lips quirked into a sardonic smile.

"I don't like going in if I don't have to. The last time I was there on a job, I nearly got killed."

Well, that explained the nervousness. "We're waiting on another. So you can just watch the timer and give us the signal," Eames assured him. When he didn't seem to be that comforted by the statement, Eames suppressed a sigh. "Or I can call in someone to watch the timer. Either way, we wouldn't need you to keep a level of the dream stable." Nash seemed to relax even further, and he looked much less like a caged thing and more like the sort of fellow that spent much too much time in the library surrounded by books and theses papers.

"Bianca Trieste should be here soon," Jenny pointed out, scrolling through whatever document she had scanned into her laptop. She didn't bother to look up. "Mind like a whip and her knives are twice as sharp. We'll be fine."

Nash chewed on his lower lip at the comment about knives but settled in near Jenny. "What do we know about the job so far, then?"

"We need to pick a target," Eames responded, pulling out the folder Stein had given him. "The main development team that we need to interrupt is Müller, Zimmermann, Lehman, Krause, Meier and Keller."

"Oh, very German names," a feminine voice said from the doorway. It belonged to a petite woman with dyed blonde hair, pale blue eyes and lips curled into a knowing smirk. "I thought it was an English company we were infiltrating?"

"Bianca," Jenny said, looking up from her laptop. She smiled and waved her in. "I see you made it back into Europe without difficulty."

 _"Cara,_ I go where I please," Bianca purred. She was dressed casually, and Nash's eyes tracked the curves of her body in appreciation. Bianca ignored him to press affectionate kisses to both of Jenny's cheeks, her fingers brushing across Jenny's shoulder.

"Bianca, this is Mr. Eames and that is Mr. Nash. This is the main team for this particular job, though we may need to find someone else to watch over us while we're under," Jenny told the petite woman. Eames lofted an eyebrow at Jenny during the introductions, and the point woman merely smirked back at him.

 _"Molto piacere,"_ Bianca said politely as she was introduced. Bianca had a firm grip as she shook their hands, and then primly sat down in the indicated seat. She wound up near Nash, who kept making surreptitious glances at her. Eames couldn't tell if it was merely because female extractors were so rare or he was trying to figure out where she had hidden her knives. Eames had spotted what could have been a knife strapped to her ribcage when she had bent over to kiss Jenny's cheeks, but he wasn't entirely sure. He was willing to bet on at least one ankle holster beneath the denims she was wearing. Just because she didn't seem to be armed with a gun didn't mean very much; it was hard to reliably transport firearms across international borders, and there was a thriving black market in Berlin that made it easy to find replacements for just about every pistol preference if that became necessary.

"What do we know about the targets, then?" Nash asked Eames in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "Anything I can start researching?"

Nash seemed actually interested in the work and not just interested in preening in front of Bianca, which was a plus. Eames laid out the dossiers that Stein had given him for Columbia Industries' main development team. The six men were all in their mid to late fifties, and had been recruited from various local companies. Krause had actually been recruited from Markneuheiten itself, which must have stung Stein badly to realize. "These are the men we're looking at. We obviously can't go into all six minds to change them, but if we manage to go and influence one of the leaders' minds, we'll still get the final result that we want. Basically, their research _must_ be stalled out. They can't meet their fall deadline."

"Wait," Bianca said, holding up a hand and frowning. "Changing minds, you said?"

"Yes," Eames replied with a nod. "We're going to perform inception."

She blinked once in surprise, letting that information settle. "Why have you need of an extractor, then?" she asked. It wasn't exactly a challenge, but Eames could tell that the blonde was intrigued and not sure how to proceed with this sort of plan. Extraction was common in dream share. Inception was still myth.

Then again, so was limbo and Sergei was trapped there. Eames hadn't yet received word from Katya that he was all right, so Eames had to assume that his friend was lost. If his family ever got him to wake up, odds were good his brains would more closely resemble scrambled egg.

"Ideas are tricky things," Jenny said, jumping into the conversation and shutting the lid of her laptop. Eames nodded at her to let her know it was all right to explain the concept. He was more than willing to sit back and see how she reformulated the ideas they had already discussed for hours. "If I tell you that red is a good color on you, Bianca, but you'd never thought so before, would you accept that?"

"Not likely," she snorted.

"Precisely. It wouldn't feel natural, wouldn't feel like it belonged in your mind. It would be alien, outside of yourself. Unnatural thoughts are more likely to be discovered, more likely to get our subject looking for us. If he doesn't know about dream share, he's just going to write off the thoughts as a strange dream, nothing more. There will be no change in his behavior, and all our work falls apart."

"We can't just tell him what we want him to do," Eames said. "It has to feel part of him, and has to grow naturally."

"I take ideas, Mr. Eames," Bianca told him shortly with a raised eyebrow. "I normally don't give them to people."

"This is a subtle art, Bianca," Eames replied evenly. "Just as it is an art to take an idea without them knowing, it's just as artful to add one amongst the tangle of a man's mind."

"Very poetic," she said with a smile.

"So we need to break down what we're telling him first, then I build something that can match the feeling of it," Nash said, looking at the other faces in the room. "Good architecture isn't just a physical construct, after all. There's feeling and emotion in it. It can inspire."

Eames nodded, appreciating the natural grasp of the situation that Nash had. "So if our final outcome is to stop working for a while, we need to make that feel natural. Our target is one of these six men that will more likely respond to that kind of a suggestion."

"So I'm up first," Jenny said, opening up her laptop. "Cursory investigations to start, of course, but here's what we have on our six potential targets."

Benedikt Müller was a confirmed bachelor dedicated to pharmaceutical research. The current project was to try to embed various drugs of choice into prosthetics, so his expertise was very necessary to the project. He was generally a loner as far as Jenny's initial research could tell; he worked long hours, went home alone, stayed there and then went to bed early to wake early and go back to work the following day.

Jakob Zimmermann was a married father of three. He was the plastics expert of the team, and seemed to be as dedicated to his family as to his work. If he was their target, the hook might be to have him spend more time with his family.

Edsel Lehman was married and had no children. He did have a half dozen dogs that he cared for, as well as a second home in the countryside that he visited during the summer with his wife. She was a fairly accomplished local artist, and they generally spent evenings together. As far as an initial search could tell, Lehman had no close friends or family. His entire life was tied up with his work and wife. He had come onto the team along with Zimmermann to work on plastics.

Herman Krause had training as a pharmacist, and preliminary reports had him more or less equal in importance as Müller in figuring out ways to embed the drugs or keep them viable until they were in place.

Erich Meier was the head researcher, and generally the one that prepared the reports for Edina Weston. He had Ph.D. degrees in pharmacy, chemistry and biochemistry, and his job was to create new formulations of the drugs that Krause and Müller would try to embed in the plastics. Amongst the team members, it was assumed that there might be other ligands to attach to the drugs in order to keep them stable during the embedding process. It was also a possibility to use time release mechanisms within the plastics, and Meier was in charge of both arms of the research project.

Rudolph Keller was the last addition to the team, after everyone else's roles were determined. Jenny hadn't really been able to find out what his purpose was on the team, even though he had training his chemistry and engineering. She was assuming that Keller would redesign the instruments as needed.

"It seems fairly clear to me," Bianca responded, looking at the others. "Meier is the subject. He's in charge of the team on both research fronts and has the ear of Ms. Weston. You eliminate him, the rest of the research falls apart."

Eames nodded. "Meier it is, then." He looked to Jenny. "We'll need to get into Columbia to get closer. I'll forge the access papers you'll need to get in for records, and I'll try to get close to Weston. Once we know more about how they interact, we can try to change that relationship in the dreaming."

"Forging as well as extraction?" Bianca asked, a small smile on her face.

"Let's just say that I'm quite versatile," Eames told her smoothly, amusement twisting his lips. "It certainly helps in the dreaming."

"That it does. I can start working on putting together a plan of attack, so to speak," Bianca offered.

"I'll help," Nash said quickly, looking at her.

Bianca's gaze was professional and politely disinterested as she looked at Nash. "I suppose. We're on a time table, you said."

Eames nodded again. "Exactly. The sooner we get this job done, the better."

***

Jenny went into the archives as part of Columbia's Quality Control department; it was easy enough to bypass their security and get HR's files on Meier and obtain security footage that featured the lab. As a matter of course, she downloaded whatever files the Quality Control department had access to with regards to the research that Meier was in charge of. While she couldn't make heads or tails of it, that didn't mean it wasn't potentially important. She didn't want to risk getting caught going through archives she wasn't supposed to have access to.

Eames had transformed himself into Vincent Van Horn, one of the bland office drones that worked in the same general area as Edina Weston. She was in her late forties, with dark curls and dark eyes. Occasionally she wore reading glasses, but for the most part she looked over everyone in her department as if they were personally accountable to her. She was firm with all of her employees, and generally wore a white lab coat over her business suits. She could just as easily go from a department business meeting to meeting with Meier about his team's progress and research. While she didn't have formal pharmacy training, she obviously was able to follow his line of reasoning.

It was difficult to insinuate himself close to Meier and his compatriots in the research division. It was much easier to follow Weston, though Eames couldn't see how using her in the dream would be useful. Breaking down a _don't research_ suggestion into some kind of emotional component was complicated. There were too many loaded ideas and feelings with that, and he didn't know enough about Meier's personal life. Jenny was doing her part, of course, but it wouldn't be until they all brought their parts to the table that he could possibly pick it apart. Not that he didn't trust Bianca with the job, but he knew people. He knew what made them tick, and sometimes it was a question as to how to phrase something or how to approach someone that could make an unpalatable idea stick.

By complete chance, Eames caught sight of Meier outside smoking in the afternoon. He was with another fellow that Eames didn't really recognize, but he had the official Columbia ID tag on. Pasting a smile on his face, he approached. "Do you have an extra I could have?" he asked in his best German.

The other fellow, Adrian Gerhardt, handed him a smoke and Meier offered him the light. Eames nodded and took a deep drag, making sure he looked as though he had been craving the nicotine all day. "Completely forgot I was out when I got outside. Thanks."

Gerhardt didn't seem to mind it, and Meier laughed. "Oh, I know how that gets. Two pack a day habit, myself. I keep extra in my desk and my car just to be sure I don't run out."

Eames whistled and looked impressed. "I never thought of that one. Habit like that, I hope your wife is a smoker, too." Meier looked vaguely uncomfortable and Gerhardt laughed. It was a somewhat unkind laugh, rather like someone amused with a secret that he really shouldn't have been. "Oh, I stepped in it, didn't I?"

"We're separated," Meier admitted. "Says I work too much and don't give a rat's ass about her anymore." He turned toward Gerhardt. "You, shut it."

"I didn't say anything," Gerhardt said, though he snickered and didn't look sorry at all. "I've been telling you for ages that Agnes was getting antsy. She fucking hates Berlin."

Eames looked between the two with an interested expression and took another drag from the cigarette. "I didn't mean to cause trouble," he offered in polite tones. "But since I did, I'll listen if you feel like explaining."

Meier sighed and took a drag off of his own cigarette. "Not much to tell. Agnes and I knew each other since we were children. I do research, as I've always done, and she's a teacher. We've been here for years now, and it was fine as long as she had the children. They're all off at university. I still have my research and she... Well, nothing to do, and she's never really liked it here. Nothing to keep her once she retired."

"So what does she do all day?"

A shadow passed over Meier's face, and Eames' instincts homed in on that. "Haven't the foggiest. She's back in England with her family while I'm here with mine."

Gerhardt shook his head. "I'm telling you, Erich. No job is worth that."

Meier sighed again and simply smoked instead of answering. "I'm onto something," he said after a moment.

"You always say that," Gerhardt groused.

"You work together?" Eames asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Not hardly," Gerhardt scoffed. "Not nearly smart enough to do that. I'm in accounting, running the books for his projects."

"Ah." Eames introduced himself as Van Horn. "Clerk," he added, shrugging. "Can't say I know what research would even mean in a company like this, right? So much going on, and all that."

"I'm onto something," Meier said again, glaring at Gerhardt. "I'll get everything done in time for the big fall reveal."

Gerhardt made a big show of holding his hands up in mock surrender. Meier appeared somewhat mollified and conversation died off at that point. Gerhardt finished his cigarette first, then stubbed it out with his shoe and went back inside. Meier wasn't done with his yet and didn't want Gerhardt to wait for him.

"Sorry if I sparked a fight with your friend. Certainly didn't mean to," Eames offered once Gerhardt was safely inside the building.

"Friend. Ha." Meier snorted and took a final drag of his cigarette. "Men like me don't have friends. Not anymore."

"Oh?"

"I'd best get back to work," Meier said in clipped tones, as if he just realized he had started to unburden his soul when he hadn't meant to. He compressed his lips unhappily but gave Eames a polite enough nod as he flicked the remnants of the cigarette to the ground and stamped out the end with his shoe.

Eames nodded at Meier as he went back into the building. He watched carefully, finishing up his own cigarette.

Details like this were _priceless._

***

Jenny, Eames and Bianca met several times with the information they had collected on Meier, particularly regarding his relationships with Agnes, the rest of the development team and Weston. "He is so sad in some ways," Bianca commented. "You'd think he would be more content, given what his profile is like on paper. What you describe..." She waved her hand in a vague manner indicating the files Jenny had collected and the observations Eames had reported. "He is empty. Lonely."

"Then that's exactly how we'll get to him. If his current life has no meaning, we're going to have to give him one," Eames responded, warming to his topic. Nash was present, eyes bright and alert even if he didn't contribute anything to the conversation. "So now we just break it down into levels, making it so that he feels like it's his own idea."

"Family is important. That should be something to emphasize," Jenny said, going through one of her folders. She pulled out the one on Agnes, which was fairly thick. "You'd probably want to do the wife to work on that."

"Do the wife?" Bianca asked with a lofted eyebrow.

Jenny laughed as Eames merely let his lips curl into a smirk. "It's a little trick I have once we're dreaming," Eames replied, opening the folder. "Meier said she's in England."

"Lucky for you, she isn't," Jenny said sweetly. "Enjoy Amsterdam."

Eames actually did enjoy Amsterdam; he was fond of Europe and all the different markets available for the underground. Dream share was still relatively new as far as illegal applications went, but it was already turning into a thriving business. Agnes Meier was easy to find, since she was a civilian and had no reason to doubt that her safety was compromised. She lived in a small apartment and apparently volunteered at a community center and domestic violence shelter. She did her grocery shopping, then went home. She also had a girlfriend, apparently, and kept in contact with her children regularly.

The girlfriend was much more interesting than Agnes. Dorine Klein was twenty years younger than Agnes and actually worked in one of the red light districts in the city late at night. For someone who should have known better, it was easy enough to chat her up and get her talking about Agnes. Dorine was dismissive of Agnes' husband, stating that the man cared more for books than Agnes, and didn't know how to treat her properly. Agnes had been a wild one when in her youth, and had multiple lovers before she set her sights on Erich Meier. She had calmed down a little once she married and had children, but once the children were gone, she had been itching to travel and do more than sit home and bake. Erich Meier was the old fashioned sort of man, and wanted his own life to resemble the storybook family he had grown up in. He didn't approve of her affairs, drug use or flaunting girlfriends or boyfriends in their home. He loved her fiercely, but Agnes couldn't tolerate his efforts to make her settle down again. She didn't want a quiet retirement, even if it looked that way on the outside.

Eames tipped well, which Dorine appreciated. He also had a very good idea of where the team needed to go with the inception.

***

"Level One: I must prove my love to Agnes. My wife will stop her wicked ways if she has good enough reason to. She doesn't think I love her anymore. When that seems to stick, we move on to Level Two. Family is more important than work." Eames smiled at Bianca and Jenny as he laid out his plan. Nash was building a replica of their home in Berlin under PASIV for the first level, so he was missing this part. The second level was going to be Meier's childhood home, to reinforce the family idea.

"That's the first time you're bringing in work, then," Bianca said with a frown.

"Just telling a workaholic to stop isn't going to do any good," Eames told her. "He has to have a reason to stop, a focus. The end result is that the work stops or slows down. Anything past this fall will work for our purposes. Stein was clear on that point. He already thinks family is important and he values the one he grew up in. His own life didn't work out that way, and it's what's driving him to work harder."

"So if we give him the family he wants..." Bianca began.

"Exactly."

"It would be easier to change the wife into a homemaker," Jenny groused.

"Possibly, but if Meier doesn't believe the change is genuine, he won't stop working."

"I suppose I could pretend to be her latest girlfriend," Bianca mused. "We find the projection of the wife, I pretend to break up with her, we see if she turns to him."

Eames gave her a slow smile. "You called me a forger before, Bianca."

"Your documents were very good, yes."

"That's not all I forge."

She blinked slowly, absorbing that. Bianca quickly put the pieces together regarding his and Jenny's sly comments, her lips starting to curl into a smile of understanding and amusement. "So _you_ would be the wife. You're the one that would have to convince him that the change of heart is genuine."

"Much easier than relying on his projections, right?"

Bianca laughed, a bright and amused sound. "Oh, yes. Then perhaps this mad plan of yours stands a chance after all."

"Glad to hear it. Now all we need are the levels constructed to memorize them. Then we go in and change some perspectives."

***  
***


	3. Starting The Dream

Getting to Meier to do the actual inception was actually ridiculously easy. The man didn't do much on weekends other than putter around his home and go to the market. While he was away, Bianca picked the locks on his home and broke in. They had decided not to hire on anyone else for this job out of expediency, so Nash would watch over everyone in the real world. Jenny and Nash followed Bianca into the house and they waited for Meier to get back from his errands. Eames was following him, texting Jenny updates and a potential ETA. Once the man was back inside his home, he brewed himself a cup of tea and moved to his sitting room to read a book. Bianca crept up behind him and slipped a sedative into his tea. They all had to wait a few minutes until it kicked in, and then he was quietly snoring. Nash let Eames into the house and quickly locked the door behind him. Jenny set up the PASIV and gave Nash a stern look as they all laid down around Meier. It was her unspoken warning that he should do his job, nerves or not, and then she hit the button.

Then they were all dreaming.

The first level of the dream was Jenny's, and it was meant to look like the Meier home in Berlin. The streets were bustling, full of absentminded and busy people walking to and fro without paying any attention to the dreamers invading Meier's mind.

Jenny was dressed in her usual business casual attire, an attaché case in hand. She had her hair up in a classic French twist, and her eyes scanned the street they were on, trying to decide which direction she should walk in to approach the Meier home. It felt like the route she had taken not that long ago to break into the house. Nash knew his craft, she had to give him that much.

"There you are, _cara,"_ Bianca said, coming up beside Jenny. Her blonde hair was loose, her blue eyes slicing through the milling crowds of projected humanity. Linking an arm through Jenny's, she straightened the hem of her shirt. It was low cut, the better to show off her curves, and there wasn't even the outline of a blade showing anywhere on her lithe form.

"I thought you were looking for Agnes," Jenny asked, eyebrow lofting. Eames would have to be close by, though she wasn't sure if he would forge Agnes Meier now, or once they could be sure where Meier himself was.

Bianca let her lips quirk into a soft smile. "She will find me, of course. Once everything is in place, then it will all work out for our little plan."

Eames walked up to the two women, hands stuffed in his pockets. _"Guten Morgen,"_ he said cheerfully. "Lovely weather today."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "How very banal."

"Agnes is only wild in certain areas, darling. Care to have me show you?" Eames snarked, eyes already starting to change color. Usually he needed to use reflections in mirrors to help refine the layers of the forge he needed to put into place before anchoring them, but eye color was a simple enough detail to change.

Bianca snickered and disentangled herself from Jenny. She rested her hand on his chest, stroking lightly. "This doesn't feel like an Agnes, you realize. However will I convince our poor subject that his estranged wife is done with me if you don't look like her?"

"All in good time, Bianca," Eames replied with a smile, patting her hand. He knew Nash had placed several mirrors at various points within the level so that he could pull off his forge or tweak it as it was necessary. The time dilation on this level meant they had about ten hours of work time, and the second level would have about sixty. He hoped that would be enough. So far it looked clear enough, with no obvious subconscious security to be found. "Let's go find a place to change."

Eames may have entered a small restaurant as himself, but he left as Agnes Meier. She was a very young looking fifty, still lithe and supple from exercise and dancing. She dyed the gray in her hair to the darker honey blonde shade that was her natural color, and her brown eyes were sharp and assessing. She dressed in jeans and a simple knit blouse, purse dangling from her shoulder. Bianca looked him over critically, then smiled. She slid an arm around his waist, and they were both about the same height now. "You are a very tricky man," she purred, caressing his hip in a possessive gesture. "That is a very interesting skill to possess."

Laughing, Eames leaned into Bianca's touch. The laughter was his, though the tone belonged to Agnes. "Well, darling, shall I show you how far the forgery goes?"

Bianca's eyes twinkled, and Jenny rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Come on, Romeo," she said, tapping the attaché case she was holding. Inside of it was the familiar PASIV mechanism for the second level that Bianca had memorized. "We need to track down Meier and start this. You have just over nine hours left."

He had been rushing the forge, too, but Eames knew it was as flawless as he could make it in that time. It wasn't the appearance that took so long, but the anchoring. He thought of it rather like changing into clothes that weren't quite finished, then trying to hem them while he was still wearing them. He could do it quickly, and it would be convincing at first glance. The more time he spent on the preparation, the easier it would be for him to maintain the illusions and stay in character without any of the cracks showing. It was a trick with smoke and mirrors, rather like magic, so multiple mirrors helped him find the places he hadn't yet finished the forge. They were on a time limit, however, so he had to hope that this would be enough.

Eames led the way toward Meier's home. They wouldn't have all wound up far from him, not with the way the PASIV technology worked. Home was safe for Meier, the place where he felt most comfortable and most respected. That was where his illusion of love and family would need to be built up.

Aware of Bianca's scrutiny and Jenny following closely behind him, Eames let out a breath that made Agnes' generous bosom heave. "Well? What did you want to ask me?"

"Just admiring your handiwork," Bianca told him, lips quirking into a smile. She still had an arm around Agnes, and let her fingers slide up the older woman's side. Just to test how detailed it was, she moved her other hand to cup a breast and feel its weight. "Oh, very nice. You did do a very good job."

"Glad you approve," Eames told her dryly. "Agnes isn't quite into public displays, you realize," he reminded her.

Bianca laughed. "Yes, but I don't see this sort of thing often. Yours is a very rare talent. Extraction, on the other hand..."

"Common skills are still necessary," Eames told her. "And I would never have asked for just anyone to be part of this."

She preened a little, then kept her hands to herself as they all turned onto Meier's street. In the dream, it was a little more sad and forlorn looking than it was in real life. The yard wasn't quite overgrown, but it was obvious that it wasn't tended to. The garden was a tangle of roses and lilies, spaces between choked with weeds and grasses. The shades were down over the windows and the porch light was broken. There were even three shingles missing from the roof.

"What a sad little man," Bianca murmured.

"If it helps, we might make him a little happier in the long run," Eames told her, moving up the walk to the front door. There would be a key in the purse, but he wasn't simply going to enter as if he had every right to be there. This had to be about Meier accepting her back into his life. Jenny had already disappeared, likely circling around to the back of the house in order to gain entry for later.

Meier opened the door and immediately looked suspicious when he saw Agnes and a young woman at the door. "What are you doing here?" he asked, hurt in his tone. "You made it very clear what you wanted, Agnes."

Eames let out a sigh. "Erich," he murmured in Agnes' softer tones. "Can we talk? Will you let me inside?"

"What's she doing here?" he asked, casting distrustful eyes on Bianca.

"Please, can we talk about this inside?" Eames asked, pasting a somewhat contrite look on his face. Bianca looked at him with a lofted eyebrow, not sure where he was going with this. She was more than willing to play along and follow his cue, but the expectant confusion on her face was clearly visible.

Meier seemed to sense that something was off between them, and he looked at Agnes suspiciously. "What is this all about, Agnes?"

"Erich..."

"I won't play your games, Agnes," he said, jaw clenched. There was definite pain and hurt there, something a little more deeply seated than Eames had guessed. "You might have fooled the children, but you won't fool me again."

"I'm not trying to fool you, Erich. There isn't any game, nothing like that. Right now, I just want to talk to you."

"Why now?" he asked bitterly.

Bianca slid her hand along Eames' arm. "If he isn't interested, perhaps we should leave. This was a foolish idea."

Meier almost growled at Bianca, which startled the extractor. "She's not foolish."

 _Gotcha,_ Eames thought. Here was the hook to make him listen. "Darling," he said, reaching out for Erich. "I just need to talk to you, and I won't barge into your life if you don't want me there."

Bianca seemed to catch on to what Eames was starting to do. "Wait a moment!" she cried, brows furrowing in confusion. "You said there was something important to talk about. What are you on about now?"

Eames nodded, curling a corner of his mouth into an appreciative smile for only Bianca to see. "This isn't the sort of thing for neighbors to be watching."

Sure enough, there were a few projections milling about, looking like neighbors angling to take in the sight of them to get gossip to spread. Meier flushed and then stepped back. "Fine, then. You both can come in," he said, though his tone was ungracious. "Tell me straight, Agnes. You've never been one to dance about in circles if you could help it." He shut the door and waved them into the sitting room. "Just say what it was you wanted to say."

Eames grasped hold of Meier's shirt, a plain long sleeved polo shirt over comfortable slacks. Pulling him close, Eames planted his mouth over Meier's. It startled the researcher and Bianca made a small noise of surprise. "You weren't supposed to stay away," he told Meier afterward, looking at him intently. "You weren't supposed to think I wanted to leave. You were supposed to follow me. You were supposed to find me and prove how much you love _me,_ not some shrinking violet picture of me. Erich, you were supposed to come with me. You were supposed to be with me."

Meier gaped at Eames, touching his mouth in shock. "Agnes..."

 _"Un momento!"_ Bianca said, whirling Eames around. "Am I nothing, then? A ruse to lure your old man to your side?"

"Darling," Eames began in a wheedling tone.

Bianca stomped off into the house, looking like a child about to have a temper tantrum. Meier looked between the two of them in concern. "What's going on?" he asked in concern.

"I don't know," Eames told him, following Bianca farther into the house. "I didn't exactly plan this," he lied.

"You never plan anything," Meier sighed, following him.

They all settled in the next room, and Bianca paced when no one seemed willing to start talking right away. Meier kept staring at Eames, which almost made the forger think that there was a chink in the Agnes appearance somewhere. He knew it was flawless, however, so he merely looked around the room as if nervous. "Erich," he said finally, turning back to look at Meier. "We've known each other a very long time."

"Why did you bring her?" he asked abruptly.

Eames could see that Bianca had a syringe hidden in her sleeve, just in case this started to go badly and they needed to drop down into the second layer and then restart this first layer of the dream. He hoped that they wouldn't have to do that, since the risk of a militarized subconscious went way up if that happened. Multiple drops might help some people get things done, but overall, it was a terrible idea as far as Eames was concerned. Extractors had gotten torn up and ripped to shreds for less, and Eames didn't want to think of what might have led to Sergei's fall into limbo. It was easy to tell himself that Sergei went into someone unstable or had pushed too hard, since that was Sergei's style. But what if the mind had been militarized? Eames didn't want to force the issue in something as complicated as this would be.

He opened his hands in a perfect imitation of Agnes' helpless gesture. "Erich," he said in her soft tone. Meier was still looking at him with some suspicion, but it was the same look he had on his face when Eames and Bianca had been standing on the porch. Eames didn't think he had made any mistakes with Agnes' characterization. "We've known each other a long time. You knew me before we married, before the children."

"Yes, Agnes," he said, though the suspicion didn't quite leave his face.

"You work all the time," Eames said softly. He looked at Meier with Agnes' entreating expression. "You didn't notice me. You didn't care anymore once the children were grown. I wasn't needed here anymore, not the way I used to be."

Meier had an incredulous look on his face. "Of course I needed you!"

"Then why didn't you follow me?" Eames cried, leaning forward intently. "You were supposed to follow me if you really loved me. You were supposed to stop me. Or tell me to come back. Or _something,_ anything other than stay silent like you didn't care anymore."

Bianca came to Eames' side and laid a hand on Agnes' shoulder. _"Cara,_ I had no idea..."

"Why didn't you follow me? Didn't you care enough when I left?"

"Agnes, _you destroyed me."_ Meier rose to his feet. "I don't like your sick little games. I don't want another woman in our bed, I don't want you going everywhere with some other woman when you should be home."

Eames shot to his feet, shaking off Bianca's hand. "If you don't care about me anymore, I should find someone that does!"

"It's not like that!" Meier shouted at Eames, the cool façade slipping at last. "You have always been everything! You're the one that wasn't happy here, you're the one that hated being shut up with the children. You kept saying you should leave. Don't you dare blame this one me!"

"You were _supposed_ to prove you loved me. You were _supposed_ to spend time with me!"

Meier began to pace in an almost agitated manner, and Bianca shot Eames a concerned look. He didn't say anything for a long time, and neither did Eames. "I should go," Bianca said suddenly, more to break the tension. "This wasn't a romantic trip," she said to Eames, an accusatory tone in her voice. "Was I just some fling? A way to get your man to be jealous and come back to you? Did you even care about me?"

Eames covered the side of his face with one hand just the way Agnes did when she was flustered. Meier's eyes were on him, watching intently for what he said next. These moments were pivotal, and the researcher was proving to be a little more hurt and angry than Eames had thought. He looked at Meier, not at Bianca, and stared at him intently. "Do you love me?" he asked Meier in Agnes' pained tones.

"Is there a reason why you're here?" Meier asked instead of answering. Eames thought the expression on his face was telling enough. "What do you want?"

"Is there something to come back to?" Eames asked, staring at Meier. _"Should_ I come back? Do you want me here? Do you love me? Or is it just an idea of me that you wanted?"

"Agnes," Meier said, shaking his head. "You don't understand. I'm on to something..."

"You're always on to something!" Eames accused. "There's always something so important. You don't come home, you don't ask after me, you don't care if I've been out. So if I'm with someone that actually cares what I do, what does it matter anymore?" He threw up his hands in Agnes' exasperated movement, startling Meier. "You don't love me, do you? You say you were devastated when I left, but were you really? All you do is work. You don't care. You don't really love me. If you loved me, you'd spend time with me. You'd be home. You'd listen when I tried to tell you something."

"I _do_ love you! I've done everything I can for you, everything!"

"You don't care enough to stay home! You don't love me enough to stay with me! You and your precious _work,"_ Eames sneered, half turning away. "Work is more important to you than I am, I see that now. There was a reason why you didn't come after me. You didn't love me enough. You care about work more than me."

"That's not true, Agnes," Meier said, his voice low and angry. "You _know_ that's not true."

"Do I? Do I really? How would I know? You don't show me. You don't tell me. You let me go without a word, and you don't care. If you loved me, you would have told me to stay. You would have been with me. But where are you? In your lab all the time. Surrounded by papers and research and whatever else it is that you do. You weren't _here,_ Erich. I was lonely and I needed something more than what I had. Don't you understand? If you loved me, you would have followed me. You would have had me come back. You wouldn't be working all the time. You would be with _me."_

Meier looked stricken, and actually staggered back a step. "Agnes..."

"But you don't," Eames continued, shoulders sagging, as if all the fire had gone out of Agnes. _Hook, line and sinker,_ he thought smugly. _I think we got this. We've got this in, and he's accepting it._

Bianca was quiet, looking for all the world like a rejected lover. She was ready with the syringe, eyes on the clock on the wall. Eames was just as conscious about time, about Jenny waiting with the PASIV to start the next level going. He stepped forward, reaching out toward Meier with a bit of hesitance in the motion. He let his arm drop down at his side with a soft, disappointed sigh. "Erich, I would have done anything for you," he said softly. "If there was reason to."

"Agnes. I love you. It's just that work is so intense right now..."

"And it means more to you than me," Eames said, a defeated slump in his shoulders.

"No! It's not that! It's all I had left after you walked out of the door. What else was I supposed to do? You said you wanted adventure and I'm not enough for you."

"You were working all the time, Erich. What kind of adventure would I have sitting home at all hours waiting for you?"

Meier seemed to contemplate that, and he reached forward to touch Agnes' hand. "I thought you didn't care anymore, so I just spent more time at the lab."

"I thought you were spending more time at the lab because you didn't care anymore."

They stared at each other, and Meier's mouth started to twitch slightly. "What a pair we are."

"Always have been," Eames said with some amusement.

"I do love you, Agnes," Meier murmured.

"So now what?" Bianca asked unkindly, tapping her foot on the floor. She was playing the role of spurned lover to the hilt, making Eames almost want to laugh. "You love each other, then?" She looked between the two of them. "What are you going to do now?" 

"You're going to stay with me, of course," Meier told Eames, reaching out for Agnes' hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "We'll make it work, I know we will."

"So you're going to stay here?" Eames asked, head tilted knowingly. "Or will you still be in the laboratory at all hours? Erich, I can't sit here alone while you're off chasing things."

"I'm close," he protested.

Eames gently disentangled his hand. "You always say that. Or something like that. And then you're late coming home. Or you don't come home at all, and I'm left out while you pursue something grand without me. We were supposed to be having an adventure together. That's the only thing that makes Berlin tolerable."

Something flickered in Meier's eyes, something like doubt. Though there was no change in his features, Eames could tell that something was wrong. He couldn't figure out what mistake he might have made with what he said, so he would have to do his best to salvage the situation. They couldn't afford for Meier to doubt them, since that would undoubtedly trigger drastic changes in the second layer. Eames reached out and touched Meier's chest. "Is there something here, Erich? Is there something to keep me here by your side? Or will I have to grab your attention again?"

Bianca watched him closely, syringe primed and ready just in case. Something didn't feel right, and she could feel the shifting tensions in the room. This could go either very, very right or very, very wrong. Relationships were always tricky like that, but people did crazy things for love all the time. Meier would hardly be the first.

"No," Meier said finally. "You don't have to grab my attention, Agnes." He sighed and covered Eames' hand with his own. "You have no idea how much you hurt me."

"How do you think I felt, with you gone all the time?" Eames asked.

Meier looked down. "I tried to do right by you and the children, Agnes." He looked up with a bleak expression. "We're a family. We should be together."

"Yes, we should." Eames leaned forward to kiss Meier again. "We should."

Bianca eased her stance a little. "You don't need me, then," she said accusingly. "You tricked me." The syringe went back up her sleeve and she pouted at Eames. "You wanted _him_ all along, then."

"If he'll have me. If he'll be with me."

"Oh, Agnes," Meier sighed. "How could I want anything else?"

Eames offered to make tea as Bianca pretended to storm out of the house, slamming the front door shut. She hid in a different room, watching as Eames slipped a sedative into Meier's tea. He drank it, never suspecting a thing, then promptly passed out as he was again expressing his devotion to Agnes.

"How painfully ordinary," Bianca sighed. "I was almost thinking this wouldn't work," she admitted. "Let's go get Jenny."

Jenny was hiding in the bushes by the back door, which she hadn't been able to get open. "I nearly had the lock picked," she complained. "But something happened and the lock changed. It broke my picks and everything. The neighbors sounded restless, too."

"You think he knows?" Bianca asked, eyes sharp. "Any projections that you saw? Anything out of the ordinary or looking like he's about to fight us?" She had a knife in her hand suddenly, and Eames could see the outline of a pistol against the small of her back.

"I don't think so, but it was fucking odd." Jenny's lips were compressed into a fine line, and Eames knew how much she hated odd on a job. Eames did too, for that matter.

"All right. Time is wasting. Let's move down to the next layer." He looked at Jenny with a stern expression. "You're keeping this level solid and all of us safe. If the projections _are_ getting unruly, you have to keep us safe while we work on the next part of the suggestion. He got this far, and it seems to be sinking in."

Jenny had two shoulder rigs and a holdout pistol at her ankle. "I know how to do the job," she said crisply.

Eames gave her a conspiratorial grin as he slid the needle into his wrist. "Well, then. Sweet dreams, Bianca. See you in a mo'."

Jenny pressed the button once they were settled, and then they began to dream.

***  
***


	4. Upping The Ante

Erich Meier's childhood home was picturesque and was exactly what it should have looked like based on Nash's sketches and design plans. There was a subtle maze built into the level to keep any projections far away from Meier. Nash was possibly more paranoid of projections than Eames and Bianca were, but it did help with the question of safety. Eames was standing in the middle of the area on a street corner. He looked like himself, but he hadn't been planning to look like Agnes on this level unless he had to. Meier hadn't been back to see his family in years, so Eames going to play it by ear. As much as he had sounded confident to the rest of the team, this was the first time they were playing with a second layer of the dream and relying on it for a job to work. Accidental second layers falling apart didn't count, and neither did escape hatches to get away from crazed projections. He looked over at Bianca, who was across the street from him. She looked much the same as she had on the level above, and she crossed the street as soon as she saw him.

Meier was nowhere to be seen, but he couldn't be that far away. That was the nature of the dream, regardless of the actual level. All the players were nearby, ready to enact the shadow play that they needed.

"Excellent job," Eames told her, indicating the neighborhood around them. It felt solid and stable. It was likely a combination of Yusuf's sedatives and somnacin variant, but there was also credit to Bianca for holding the dream steady.

"There's something wrong," Bianca said, looking around the level. They weren't far from the picturesque little house, and it was painfully silent all around them.

Then he had it. There was a park nearby, as well as an elementary school. There should have been children running around and playing. There should have been concerned nannies and mothers and babysitters chatting with each other and keeping an eye on the little children to be sure they didn't hurt themselves on playground equipment.

Eames compressed his lips into a firm line. "Let's go find Meier. And there should be a safe somewhere in this place where he would put his secrets. Once I get him to think about them, you should go find it." He gave her a grim look. "If this is going to go tits up, I'd rather we have some insurance to get the job done."

"That I can definitely do," she agreed. "Will you be able to keep him occupied while I do that?"

"I'll do whatever needs to be done," he told her. She accepted that, and then they began to walk through the silent suburban neighborhood.

"This can't be his ideal," Bianca murmured, looking over the empty streets. The shades were drawn in every window, adding to the creepy atmosphere. "He can't want things to be looking like this. If so, I can see why his wife would leave him. You can't shut up someone like that in a place like this for very long."

He had been thinking the same thing, so he only nodded in agreement. "I don't think that is all that we're dealing with right now. Something has gone wrong, but we just can't tell what it is so far. There should still be projections. There should be people about, doing their picturesque and projection-y things." Eames frowned. "We have to find Meier and get this moving. I don't like this. If this level is starting to unravel, who knows what we left behind for Jenny to deal with on her own?"

Bianca nodded, and they started heading for the home Meier had grown up in. Neither spoke for a long time, though it seemed to be taking them far too long to be getting to the house. "What's going on? Do you think this level is coming apart?"

"No," Eames said with absolute certainty. "I've been in levels that fell apart before, and this is not what that is like. In those, everything shakes, the buildings break apart..." He shook his head. "Whatever is going on here, I don't like it. This is new, and it can't be a good thing."

Bianca agreed, unhappily looking around her. She didn't need to voice the thought that the entire job was about to go wrong.

"The safe is likely in the house, I would think. The parents' bedroom, something like that. Some place he would associate with being safe as a child. He found this comforting, after all. On some level, he finds all of this is what he wants. This is the point, after all. The goal of all of this is to remind him how important family is to him."

Suppressing her usual habit of playing with a switchblade when bored or trying to hide her nerves, Bianca shoved her hands into her pockets. "If the level cooperates with us, we should be at the house soon."

Almost as if it was waiting for that pronouncement, the houses seemed to finally change their appearance as the two of them started down the street toward Meier's childhood home. "This is decidedly odd," Bianca murmured.

"Keep alert," Eames intoned. He shouldn't have felt as comforted by the feel of the shoulder rig beneath his suit jacket, but he was. He should have possibly tried to forge Agnes again, since the two have known each other since they were both young. For some reason he couldn't name, he had the feeling it would be a terrible, terrible idea. "There's the house."

It was just as picturesque as every other house in the neighborhood. It seemed crisp and clean, all corners and angles and sharp lines. Eames didn't recall it looking exactly like this in the walkthrough they had done with Nash earlier, and he flashed Bianca a look of concern. Was the second level falling apart after all? The prior levels he had been in that fell apart had done so in a dramatic manner, as if he was caught in the midst of an earthquake or a wrecking ball knocking over the buildings. There was none of that happening here, so he could only hope his reassurance earlier made sense and was true. Otherwise, this would be a very expensive endeavor with very little outcome.

There was a child on the front porch of Meier's childhood home. It didn't look like Meier, but more like one of his best friends when he was younger. Meier had been bullied often, and had relied on the protection of his friends in the schoolyard. The child was staring at the two of them, his eyes open and dark. Eames had a chill roll down his spine at the sight of the child, feeling almost as if he was trapped in a horror movie. "This can't be good."

"That's the first projection we've seen here," Bianca whispered back. She wondered what it meant. "Play this out?"

"We'll have to," Eames said, a sinking sensation in his gut. He hoped Jenny was faring better than they were.

He strode forward as if he had every right to be in the neighborhood. There was more to forgery than simply the face, after all. He flashed the child a smile, though he had his doubts about the boy. "Hullo, there. Is your mother or father home?"

"You don't belong here," the boy said with a cold and impersonal voice. It didn't belong to a child, but likely the adult version of Meier's childhood friend. The boy looked at Bianca with the same soulless eyes. "You have to go now."

"Little boy, there's something we would like to discuss with your parents," Eames began, trying again.

"You were warned," the boy intoned, eyes dark as if they were completely black. He pointed at them, and Eames could feel a chill roll down his spine. "This is your last chance to leave."

And then he vanished.

 _"Santo cazzo,"_ Bianca whispered, staring at the porch. "This isn't good."

"No," Eames agreed. "Let's get in that house before something else happens."

They hurried in, but the inside of the house was nothing like the sketches of the childhood home that Nash had recreated. Instead, it looked more like the office building that Columbia Industries was using in Berlin. "Shit," Eames muttered under his breath. "Shit, shit, shit. This isn't good. This _really_ isn't good."

"I didn't dream this," Bianca said slowly, looking around. "I have never seen this place before."

"I have. It's Columbia."

Bianca looked at him in shock. "But I can't have. And you're not the dreamer. So who dreamed this?"

Eames returned her gaze with a grim expression. "This means he's had training."

 _"Stronzate,"_ Bianca hissed, looking around the hallways of the office building. "If he's trained, Jenny would have picked it up."

"Unless it was clandestine," Eames said, looking down the hallways himself. "There are plenty of people in the business that train against this, and if Meier is important to Columbia, they might have tried to do just that. It's not common, but it's more than just whispers at this point. Not to mention, some people are just paranoid to begin with." He nodded in the direction of one particular hallway. "The research wing is that way, and Meier has an office down there. I don't know if he would hide his secrets there or in Weston's office."

"I don't like this," Bianca said. "What are the odds I'll even get anything useful now?"

"We still have to try. This level is _stable._ We can't just stop now and pack it in. I'm sure we can salvage this somehow. We'll get this. We got the level above, I'm certain of it. As long as we're stable, we can still try to push the meaning for this layer. Maybe we can make it work to our advantage. No projections of family here, after all. We know Meier finds that important. I'll do my best, and so will you."

She blew out a breath and then nodded. "All right. Let's find him."

They moved down the hallway toward the research wing, and Eames let his face and demeanor shift into one of Weston's underlings. Bianca blinked at the subtle transformation, but kept her mouth shut. He checked his reflection in the glass panels of the hallways and the reflective surfaces of the elevator banks, and it was a good enough match that it should fool Meier. Agnes had no place in Columbia, and Eames' mind raced as he tried to figure out alternative explanations for his appearance in Meier's office and how to introduce the idea that family was more important than work.

Meier was in his office working on paperwork, and he looked up startled as Eames strode into his office. "Dearborn! What are you doing here?"

Ah, so that was the man's name. Eames had forgotten it. "Weston was wondering where your report was," Eames drawled in Dearborn's accent. "She is quite cross with you and wants to be sure that nothing is running behind schedule."

The implication that Meier wasn't doing his job was enough to raise the man's hackles. "I _just_ filed my latest report. It's in her office, just where it should be."

"And that right there?" Eames asked, adding the measure of scorn that Dearborn seemed to use toward everyone in the office.

Meier flushed with impotent rage, just as Eames hoped he would. "I'm working round the clock on these developments, as well you and Weston know! I've made a lot of progress recently, and I know I'll make her ridiculous September deadline."

September. That was earlier than Stein had thought it would be, and Eames filed that away for later. "You do realize that Weston is most eager to know that you can meet that deadline, Herr Meier. You are supposed to be the best in the field, after all. It wouldn't do to disappoint the company." He gave Meier an insincere smile. "Or do you have something more important than the company's interests in mind?"

Bianca had been standing out in the hall, and suddenly made a noise of shock. Eames couldn't react to it, not as Dearborn, but it was triggering the alarm bells in his head. Something was going very, very wrong, even as he was trying to fix this cock up. "Well?" he prompted Meier impatiently. "Do you?"

The researcher hesitated, and Eames saw his eyes flick to the photo on his desk. It would likely be Agnes and his children, which was a very good thing in Eames' opinion. That meant the lesson of the first level took, and all he had to do was push the theme of this level to make the inception stick.

"We must go," Bianca said from the hallway, suddenly running past Eames. He could see out of the corner of his eyes that she had a pistol in her hand. "The competition is invading the building!" she lied, turning and pointing her gun at someone down the hall from them. She shot twice, and he could hear the telltale thud of falling projections.

Bloody fucking hell.

Eames grabbed Meier's arm. "Then we need to go. _Now._ You're an asset they can't have."

Meier might have bristled at Eames' demeanor and tone, but he couldn't argue. Bianca ducked into Meier's office to shoot at the projections that were starting to come down the opposing hallway, and they looked as though they were dressed in SWAT gear. "I'll hold them off!" she told Eames. "Take the researcher and go!"

Running down different hallways, Eames quickly lost track of where they were in Columbia. This was _not_ how the actual office building was structured, not by any stretch of the imagination. It occurred to him that the hallways seemed to be structured the same way as the neighborhood map had been, and he just had to figure out where they were. Meier was huffing and puffing beside him, and he ducked into an office that seemed empty. He hoped that Bianca was all right, and that she could glean something from the documents in Meier's office. It wouldn't do to wake up from this entirely empty handed, especially with how stern and disciplined Stein was.

"What in the world is going on?" Meier wheezed, clutching at his chest.

"I didn't sign on for this," Eames grumbled, thoughts whizzing past as he tried to figure out a way to salvage this mess. "This is not what I was hired for."

"Dearborn," Meier said sharply, then sucked in another breath. "What's going on?"

"I think it's an attack on the corporation. You know Weston," Eames said, leaning against the door. "She's paranoid about the company security. She takes steps to be sure we're safe and that our data doesn't get compromised."

"Of course. That's why she hired on those fellows some time ago."

Eames turned to look at Meier with sharp eyes. "Fellows?"

"Don't tell me she didn't have them train you, too?" Meier stared at Eames for a moment. "No, she didn't, did she? She might trust you with protecting company assets, but you don't have any _potential_ assets to protect. You wouldn't have needed that kind of training."

The feeling of dread that had started forming as soon as they entered this level solidified into a heavy pit in the center of his stomach. Meier had been trained in subconscious security. Well, that explained it. The creepy child and the armed guards were likely the advance warning meant to tip off Meier that something was wrong. Perhaps there were no projections in this office because he didn't quite realize it yet. If not, there was still a chance, however slim, that this could still be pulled off.

He was a betting man, however. He didn't like the odds on those chances.

"I didn't sign on to be shot at," Eames said sharply in Dearborn's most ostentatious voice. "I have family to go home to. No job is worth losing them."

Meier flinched and looked away. It was heavy handed of him, Eames knew, but he had to start somewhere and Dearborn wasn't known for his subtlety.

"What? You're saying this one is?" he scoffed when Meier remained silent.

"At least you have family to come home to," Meier snapped.

Eames snorted. "No one is that alone, mate," he said, shaking his head. "Whatever potential assets you have aren't worth your life. It's not worth staying here all hours of the night away from them, no matter what Weston might tell you. I know she's a hard ass, but even for her that's just plain ridiculous."

"If..." He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm talking to you about family," Meier muttered.

"Doesn't seem like there's anyone else here to talk about it with," Eames replied. He didn't hear anything outside of the office, and it would be a complete tip off to try to dream up a few weapons. "Oi, you think there's anything here to defend ourselves with?"

"Like what?"

Meier was a complete novice at self protection in the real world as far as Jenny's research had been able to find. That helped a little, but Eames didn't like the idea of going any further in this level unarmed. Meier was casting about for something heavy to hold onto and use as a blunt instrument, which was at least creative thinking on the researcher's part. "Think anyone's hiding a gun or something?"

"Why would there be a gun in an office?" he asked, startled. It distracted Meier from his search, and he looked around the office as if for the first time. "There's nothing here to defend ourselves from intruders with. We have to get out."

"I don't know why a gun would be here," Eames grumbled in Dearborn's best put upon tones. "But we have to do _something._ I don't plan to sit around and get shot at."

About to say something in response, Meier stopped abruptly once he heard distant shooting. "Dear God. _Agnes."_

Eames shot him a look. "Who's that?" he asked, since he was supposed to be ignorant of Meier's personal life.

"Wife. Sort of," Meier said, looking as though he wished he hadn't said anything.

"Well, then. I suppose you do have something more important than this."

Meier sighed. "Maybe."

"No maybe about it," Eames scoffed. "Papers don't keep you warm at night, eh?"

If anything, he sighed again. "It's complicated."

"Is it?" Eames stopped rifling through drawers and looked at Meier sternly. "You got a wife, you should be with her. Otherwise, why get married?"

"It's complicated," Meier repeated, shaking his head. "It didn't turn out too well."

"Then you need to do something about that, yeah? If being in a situation where you're about to get shot makes you think of her, then you still want it to work out. So you should be doing something about that rather than keeping yourself locked in your lab at all hours."

Meier gaped at Eames. "Dearborn..."

"Yeah, yeah. Weston would have my head on a pike if she heard me saying so," Eames replied with a smile. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I suppose."

Eames shut his mouth and continued rifling through the desk drawers. He couldn't keep harping on the theme even though he wanted to shake Meier and get this over with. This job was turning into a disaster, and he had a reputation to uphold.

Knowing that it was probably dangerous to do so, he pulled out his USP Compact and two spare magazines from a bottom drawer. "Hello, there," he said, sounding surprised. "Well, then. I do believe our chances of surviving this fiasco just went up." He grinned at the startled Meier, and stood. "Let's make our way out of here."

"Why would Keller have a gun?" Meier asked, sounding almost afraid.

Interesting. Maybe that would be a point to push, if he needed to. As the newest member of the research team, Meier naturally wouldn't trust him. Adding a little doubt this deep might be enough to destabilize the research team and delay it, too. Eames was casting about for something to work, and he knew it. That might not help the inception along, but he wasn't about to take any chances.

Eames looked around and kept his hand tight on the gun. "Honestly, I don't know enough about Keller to even begin to guess," he told Meier. "What's he like?"

"Hard," Meier replied, lips turning down into a frown. "I don't like the man."

"I can't say much about his personality," Eames said with feeling, having only passed by him in the hallways once, "but I'm not willing to lay my life on the line for his. Are you?"

"Not at all," Meier said.

"Where's a safe place to take you, then?" Eames asked, pocketing the magazines. If Meier didn't know much about weaponry, he could likely push the magazine capacity past the usual thirteen rounds. "It's not going to be here."

"They'd know about my house, probably."

Eames tried not to wince when he heard more firing, and hoped Bianca was all right. They couldn't last very long in this office, and the windows were all reinforced glass. At least, they were in the real world, as they were ten stories up. If he could change the dream enough to have his weapon and ammunition, he could probably change the glass consistency. Not being an architect, it wouldn't be smooth or graceful. The projections would notice that and come right for them. He moved to the window and looked down, then tried to see if there was any other way down. The ledge might be wide enough to walk around, but that wouldn't be a long term solution.

"So your home is out," he said, looking at Meier. "Anyone else you can go to? Family? Friends? Something? We need to get the fuck out of here."

Meier didn't even react to the profanity, though he was usually such a staid sort. That only told Eames how rattled the researcher was. "I... Agnes isn't in the house."

"Okay." He tucked the USP Compact into his waistband after checking the slide to be sure there wasn't a round chambered. There was, which would have been a good thing in terms of cartridge counts. If Meier got twitchy and grabbed for the gun, that could be a very bad thing. Considering the alternatives, Eames figured this was the lesser of two evils. He would simply hold the gun once he broke the window open. Grabbing one of the metal chairs in the room, he tested its heft and looked at Meier's helpless expression. "So your wife is safe from the nonsense in this building. Bully for her. We need to get to safety, Meier. Your office might be a safe place for all your files, but it will probably be the first place they look for you if you're not in the lab. Just about everyone knows you're a bloody workaholic."

"And we were there already," Meier pointed out.

"Just so." Eames gave the chair a test swing as he heard more shooting down the hall. It was hard to tell, though he thought that it was getting closer. "So we've got to get the hell out of here _now."_

Meier sighed. "I have a cottage in the country," he admitted after a moment. "Agnes and I used to summer there or go for weekend getaways."

"Not to worry, Meier," Eames said as he swung the chair into the glass. "I have no designs on your virtue." The glass shattered, and Eames gave an internal sigh of relief. He used the chair to break the remaining jagged shards of glass even as there were shouts in the hallway outside of Keller's office. "Keller's a suspicious bastard, there's some sort of team trying to get to your research or kill you, I haven't figured out which. Bottom line is, I need to get you safe." He put the chair aside and took an experimental step out onto the ledge. It held, and he blew out of a breath. "Come on, let's go."

"You think Keller's doing this?"

"I don't know what to think about that man," Eames said honestly, reaching out to help Meier onto the ledge. "That's something you can figure out once you're safe."

"Thank God Agnes isn't part of this."

Eames gave a little laugh. "Well, hopefully I get you safe enough to meet her again, yeah?"

Meier shot him a grateful yet terrified smile as he pressed himself against the side of the building. "I'm scared of heights, Dearborn."

"Not too fond of them myself," Eames told him in a conspiratorial tone. "But I fancy bullet holes even less."

"Good point."

They managed to get around the corner of the building and slowly work their way toward a fire escape that had groaned its way into existence just before they turned the corner. Meier was startled at its appearance. "Since when was that there?"

There was a reason why Eames wasn't an architect. This was just one of them.

He was saved an answer by a gun firing at them. "Oh, shit," he said, looking around for who was shooting. He saw a number of projections on the ground shooting at them, their faces twisted and angry masks. If anything, they looked like Columbia security guards, though they all wore the same face. "Fuck, Meier, _move!"_

Eames pulled ahead and was nearly at the fire escape when he realized two very important facts. One, Meier was the kind of man that froze when frightened. Two, the projections weren't shooting at the two of them. They were shooting at _Meier._

Whoever had trained Meier had trained his subconscious security to shoot at _him,_ presumably to wake him from the dream.

"Oh, bloody hell," he groused, moving back to grab at Meier. It was a miracle that none of the projections had longer range projectile weapons, but it was likely only a matter of time. The projections were alerted to him and trying to kill Meier. He was going to have to protect the man's life even as he tried to stress that family was more important than work. How did he get himself into this mess?

Oh, yes. Bragging rights. The first successful two-level dream and the first successful inception. He was starting to think it wasn't worth the aggravation, especially if they got trapped in this dream. Dodging angry gun wielding projections wasn't his idea of a good time or a fun job.

Eames managed to manhandle Meier into the fire escape, then get him to start going down. "But they're _firing_ at us!" Meier cried.

"Our best bet is to get a car and get mobile. Right now, we're easy targets." He turned and shot through the bars of the fire escape, winging one of the projections and getting another in the center of his forehead. That projection dropped to the ground, but there were more to take his place. "We have to move fast, Meier."

"This is not how I planned to spend my afternoon," Meier whined.

It wasn't how he planned to spend this level, Eames thought as he squeezed off another round before following Meier around another flight on the fire escape. He had been hoping to rekindle the spark of family togetherness and work on it that way. Now he had to impress upon Meier that life with his family was better than a soulless death by corporate goons. He was hoping that Bianca found something noteworthy in Meier's office, since they would have to give Stein _something._

"If all goes well, you'll have other afternoons to make up for it," Eames snapped. "Spend time with that wife of yours, do family things, that sort of afternoon. But you won't get that if you don't move!"

Meier kept his mouth shut and followed Eames' directions. He flinched when shots came too close to him, or when Eames' gun went off too close to his head. Once they got toward the ground, the projections came closer. It was well within range of the USP Compact, and Eames took a classic shooter's stance to fire neat little holes into their foreheads. It gave the two men enough of a reprieve to get to the ground, and Meier led Eames to his car. Meier had the keys in his pocket, and thankfully didn't wonder why they were there if he had been doing paperwork in his office ten flights above.

Dream logic sometimes was a wonderful thing.

Meier drove, and Eames swore softly when he noticed projections on motorcycles or behind the wheel of other cars. They were all armed with shotguns or automatic pistols, and he hissed at Meier to hurry up. He was still on the first dream magazine for the USP Compact, but he could only stretch its range so far. A good architect could really alter the physics of a dream and extend projectile distances, though it would work both ways. He was rather glad that the projections couldn't reach him, either. The car was standing up to the firing, though it was unsettling how fixated they were on Meier.

"What else have you been doing for this company?" he asked Meier, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. "Why do they want to kill you so badly?"

"I don't know! I only do research. I'm not that important."

"Bullshit. Weston put you through extra training, these blokes want to put a bullet in your brains..."

"It's just research!"

"You said you were close."

"So what?"

Eames shook his head. "Never mind."

"No, don't say that," Meier nearly shouted. Eames turned toward him as the car picked up the pace and the projections temporarily fell back. "You're saying I'm important somehow, and I know all I am is a researcher. What do you mean by that?"

"Do you think this company really gives a shit about you, Meier?" Eames asked in low tones, keeping his eye on the side mirror. The projections hadn't caught up yet. "Do you really think they would care if you died?"

Meier's jaw clenched. "It's a corporation. They want results."

"Yeah. They don't much care how they get it, do they?" Eames muttered.

"I suppose they don't," Meier agreed reluctantly. He had the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip, and his jaw was tight. Eames didn't know what was on his mind, but it surely wasn't nice thoughts about Columbia Industries. "As long as I produce results, I'm important to them."

Oh, no. That was a train of thought that would backfire and ruin all of his plans. Eames had to nip that in the bud _now._

"Meier, what do you want to be remembered for?" he asked softly. "Because no one in this company will remember you if you die. They won't even mourn your passing."

The researcher looked at Eames with a bleak expression. "I can't believe that."

"You're not important to them. Not as a person. None of us are. We're just interchangeable parts in a machine."

"No," he said, shaking his head. His foot was pressing down on the gas, and Eames was starting to worry less about the projections and more about Meier. "It's not like that. I'm important. I'm _important."_

"What's the most important thing you have in your life?" Eames asked gently, feeling almost sorry for the older man.

Meier had an almost agonized expression on his face as he turned a corner, tires squealing beneath them. "I don't have much but work right now."

"What about that wife of yours? Didn't you say you had children? Family has to be important. Family is more important than work, you know. You can always get a new job. You can't get yourself a new family."

Meier turned again abruptly, and the streets of Berlin took on an almost ominous cast. "I suppose it is. But my family _abandoned_ me."

"Did you fight for them, Meier?" Eames asked, staring at him. An eerie sort of calm had settled over him as Meier took another turn a shade too fast. They were going to die here, that was all. The projections might have been trying to kill Meier to wake him up, but at this rate he was going to get them both killed in this car. _"Erich._ Slow down. You're going to kill us both, and this sodding job _is not worth that kind of shite."_

"It's all I have left."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Eames snarled suddenly. The guard rails were too uncomfortably close. "Do you think anything worthwhile comes easy? A moment ago you were worried about your wife's life, that your family wouldn't be safe. Now you're saying they don't care if you live or die? That makes no sense at all. Your family is _everything._ They're the only thing that makes your life less miserable, the only thing that gives it meaning. It's not the job. Jobs come and go. Jobs aren't worth killing yourself over." Meier was starting to slow down, though Eames didn't let up just yet. "You're important not because of research, Meier. It's who you know. It's the kind of relationship you have with people you care about. With your family. If it's not what you want it to be, you have to do something about it. You can't expect everything to fall into place just because you wish it so."

"You married, Dearborn?" Meier asked, his voice almost a pained rasp.

"No," Eames said. Dearborn didn't wear a ring, at any rate. "Not for lack of trying on my end, but no. I'd give anything to make that work. I'd left my old job to try."

"You did?"

"And I'd do it over again in a heartbeat."

Meier risked a glance at Eames, who put on his most sincere expression. Meier seemed to believe it, and he slowed down as he took an exit off of the highway. "Oh."

"I think we lost them." Eames said, looking around the car.

"We'll be there soon," Meier told him, driving at an ordinary speed. "Then we can find out what happened back there."

Projections, Eames nearly said. Somehow, he was tipped off that they were dreaming, but not quite enough to get them all kicked up a level. As long as Bianca was safe, this level would remain stable enough to try to finish the job. He had to hold on to that fact.

***  
***


	5. Closing The Deal

There was the far-off rumble of something that sounded like thunder. Eames wondered if that meant Jenny was in trouble on the level above. It wasn't anything rocking the bodies of the three of them, as this current level remained stable. It seemed like a small mercy as he watched Meier pace nervously. He was definitely suspicious of Keller, vacillating about Columbia Industries' management and Edina Weston in particular. Eames played that up as subtly as he could, though he couldn't stress the importance of family part as much as he would have liked to. This had to seem natural, had to seem like his own idea. Meier worried about the safety of his family, if they would be used as weapons against him, and Eames had to hope that was enough.

"I wonder what your angle is in all of this, Dearborn," Meier said abruptly, turning to look at Eames with a narrow gaze.

The thunder was getting louder. It was starting to sound more and more like a war, more like rocket launchers and machine gun fire.

"I just want to live, Meier," Eames told him. "Getting killed because of a job is not my idea of a good time," he told the other man honestly. "I can think of hundreds of places I'd rather be than getting shot at."

Meier seemed mollified for the moment, though Eames didn't breathe a sigh of relief yet. He wasn't quite out of the woods, and he wasn't entirely sure if this would work. Inception was such a tricky thing, and it really depended on their prior research as well as how Meier responded to the cues he set out. Not to mention, sometimes suggestions didn't always work in the ways people thought they might. So it might work, it might not, and Eames might never really know for certain. He wasn't nearly as sanguine about it as he had implied to Stein. Minds were tricky things to manipulate, no matter the means used to do it.

"The safest place I can think of is an empty house," Meier murmured, almost to himself. "Isn't that sad?"

"Aren't you the one that kept it empty?" Eames asked him, pushing a bit. "You said you sent your family away, right?"

The gunfire was getting louder. Eames wondered who Meier's projections were shooting at, then decided he didn't want to know. He had to get Meier out of commission _fast,_ or what work he had done already would be undermined and wasted.

Meier watched Eames poke about in the kitchen to start making a pot of tea. "There was no reason for them to stay," Meier murmured, then shook his head. "I've no idea why I'm telling you any of this, Dearborn. You're not exactly a likable person, you realize."

Eames laughed in Dearborn's grating voice. "Well, you're a block of ice yourself, Meier. But we're stuck together at the moment, aren't we?" He put the teapot on the stove and ignored the shifting shadows outside of the windows. "I think you should have given your family reason," he said, turning toward Meier. "If you really worked at that, you'd have your family near you and you wouldn't feel so alone right now."

The thought seemed to unsettle Meier, who turned away. There seemed to be uncertainty in the man's eyes, and Eames had to wonder if this was even working. He had dreamed up sedatives in his suit pocket, and he could always drug the man and shoot his way up a level to get out of this mess. He might have to go back down again to let Bianca know that he was out, since they were separated now and he didn't dare try to phone the extractor.

The shadows outside of the house coalesced into a shooter with a rifle. Eames barely had time to bark out "Duck!" to Meier before shots were fired. It was an ordinary rifle, not a sniper rifle, or else Eames never would have seen it. _They're still trying to wake him up,_ Eames realized, falling to the kitchen floor.

Meier was moaning, sprawled across the floor. Eames could see blood starting to stain his shirt, and he crawled forward to try to see how bad the damage was. "I'm shot, I'm shot," he moaned, looking at Eames with a piteous expression. "Why am I shot? Why is this happening to me?" he asked, grasping Eames' shirt as if he had the answer to every question.

"I'm going to protect you as best as I can," Eames told him, pulling Meier's shirt away from the wound. It was more of a graze than a deep wound, which meant that Meier would normally live for quite a while. "We can get this cleaned up, I think. It doesn't look too bad."

The researcher made a squawk of protest but another shot ringing out overhead stopped him. "We're leaving here if we can, aren't we?"

"We can try," Eames told him. He knew it wouldn't do them much good; the projections were shooting at Meier to try to wake him up. The most he could do was keep at him with the suggestions for this layer and hope to hell that Bianca had something worth the hassle if the inception didn't work out the way it should.

He didn't plan on having all of this hard work wasted if he could help it. Not to mention that Stein was the sort of man that would leave him dying inside of Berlin's city limits as a warning for incomplete jobs if Meier didn't push production past September.

Eames managed to bring Meier to a bathroom that didn't have an external wall. It was cramped and narrow, but he managed to clean the wound and press a towel against it. Meier winced but remained silent, looking at Eames imploringly. _You'll save me, won't you?_ his expression asked. _You won't leave me to die?_

Eames wouldn't, but there were reasons for that.

"I don't know how many are out there," Eames said. "Obviously there's at least one man shooting at us. This house will protect us for a little while, but there is too much of a risk of this going very, very badly. Can you think of anyone that will help protect you? Or hide you? Anyone we can call?"

Meier shook his head. "There isn't anyone."

"Your wife? Your children?"

"I don't want them involved! I don't want them hurt."

Eames winced at the vehement tone of voice. "Right. Sorry. Wasn't thinking." He blew out a breath. "We'll just have to keep you safe somehow, Meier. They've got to get bored sooner or later, I hope."

"Assuming this wound isn't going to kill me."

Surprised at Meier, he looked about for a phone of some kind. "Listen. Why don't you call your family, calm down a bit. I'll think of something."

Eames found a phone and handed it to the researcher. He moved to a different room to give him privacy, and let him talk to projections of his family. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number that was meant to be for Bianca.

"Oh, good. You're still alive," she drawled on the other end of the line when she picked up.

"Hello to you, too. The man's militarized."

"I hadn't noticed," Bianca replied dryly. "But they went after the both of you, leaving this place deserted. I've memorized everything in the man's office and lab. I can recreate it once I wake. I'm about ready to go up a level. If you had waited any longer, I wouldn't have been here to pick up the phone."

Eames released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Then at least we have something to salvage from this debacle. The projections are shooting at _him._ I'm trying to keep him alive long enough to get shite done. As soon as you go up, you and Jenny sedate him up there and give me the kick. It's getting messy down here, and I don't want to lose what I've been trying to do with him."

"Of course. We'll get you out very soon."

Eames put the phone away and leaned against the wall. He could still hear Meier on his phone, speaking in low tones. Eames could understand German, and heard Meier asking Agnes to forgive him for being so stubborn. He smiled, hoping this meant _something_ of this inception attempt would stick.

Meier's voice grew slurred after several minutes. "So tired," he was telling his projection of Agnes over the phone. "Long day. I will find you tomorrow."

The phone slid from Meier's grasp after a moment, and he called out "Dearborn!"

Crab walking into the bathroom, Eames looked at Meier's pale face. He was fighting the sedation from above. "You don't look so good."

"Perhaps I am dying after all," Meier told him with a sad smile. "My thanks for trying to save me, even if you failed, Dearborn." He pointed at the phone lying on the floor. "I was able to say goodbye to my wife, which was nice. That was a good idea you had."

"I try to have a few."

Meier laughed, eyes sliding closed. "At least I am not alone at the end."

Eames didn't have anything to say in response, and simply watched Meier fall asleep. There were noises outside, but they didn't seem quite as sinister as they had minutes before. Hopefully the projections were falling back now that he was asleep on this level. He didn't plan to take any chances, however. He put his USP Compact to his temple and pulled the trigger to wake up.

***

The house was on fire, Jenny was swearing up a storm and Bianca was trying to use a fire extinguisher. Meier was fast asleep beside Eames, still hooked up to the PASIV. "What in blazes?" he asked without thinking, earning him a dirty look from Jenny.

"Projections. Lots of them. Deadly accurate but weren't able to get a hit on any of you," Jenny reported in clipped tones. "So about the time Bianca woke up, they decided to just set fire to the fucking house and be done with it."

"Good to see you alive and intact, Eames," Bianca said. She nodded at Meier. "And that one?"

"We'll see if it takes once September rolls around," he replied with a sigh. "I can't tell how effective it was given how much time we spent trying not to get shot. And the bloke got shot in the gut anyway."

"We did our part and extra," Jenny replied, sliding a magazine into her automatic. "They're not shooting at us anymore, so my guess is that they're waiting for us to leave the house and will pick off every one of us."

Eames couldn't help but smile at her. "Well, I suppose we're about to disappoint them."

In his opinion, Jenny took far too much pleasure in shooting him in the head.

***

Meier's actual home was thankfully not on fire. There was no one waiting with guns and angry faces, no creepy children warning them to back away. Eames pulled the line from his wrist and looked around him as Jenny and Bianca started stirring. He automatically added more of the sedative to Meier's line to keep him from waking up as the somnacin ran out.

"Time to go," he told them brightly.

They worked with brisk efficiency and reconvened in the office space that they had rented previously. Once there, Bianca dutifully recreated all of the documents she had seen while in Meier's mind. She didn't understand most of what she had seen, but that wasn't the point of the exercise. There was likely something in the endless reams of data that Markneuheiten could use, and that might give Stein the edge he needed if Meier didn't naturally postpone the project he was working on.

"It was an adventure as usual," Jenny told him with a smile, packing up her things. "I look forward to the next job."

Eames laughed and shook her hand. "Let's see first if this one is worth putting on your resume."

Her laughter was bright as she left the office, leaving him with Bianca. Nash hadn't come back to the office with them after leaving Meier's home. The architect's job was done, and he had wanted to be as far away from the subject as possible. Eames thought he was a rather squirrely sort, but the designs he had made for the two levels had been exactly what they needed. He didn't need to like someone on a personal level to be able to work with them on a job, though that often helped immensely. "So what do you think?" he asked the Italian.

"About the possibility of the inception working?" she asked, handing over the recreated data for him to bring to Stein. Bianca gave him a one shouldered shrug. "We can hope. It is a much more tricky endeavor than simple extraction." She laughed a little. "Not that extraction is truly simple, but you understand my meaning."

"That, I do." Eames took the sheets of paper and placed them into a manila envelope. "It was definitely a pleasure working with you."

"I understand the things I have heard about you now," Bianca purred, grinning at him. "If you ever need an extractor..." she began, letting her tone dangle invitingly.

"Or an assassin," Eames offered, nodding at her. She simply laughed and straightened, not bothering to deny that she could turn deadly if necessary. "The rest of your fee will be wired to the account you gave me."

 _"Eccelente,"_ Bianca said with a smile. "I hope this worked."

Eames gave her a bemused smile. "So do I. We'll see very soon, won't we?"

Her laughter followed her out of the room. Eames was left in an empty office with a manila folder full of industrial secrets and the hope that a man changed his mind and no longer thought that his work was the center of his existence.

Only time would tell if it took.

***

Using the same contact information for Stein that Jensen had supplied him with, Eames set up an appointment to meet Stein. He dressed impeccably in a three piece suit and carried a leather attaché case that reminded him of Jenny's when they had gone into Columbia Industries. He was polished and sophisticated, someone that blended in well with the upper administration of Markneuheiten. No one questioned his presence as he walked into the main building and bypassed security with the ID and codes that Jensen had provided him for a small fee. Security staff deferred to him, which was a convenient touch he would remember to thank Jensen for. It was nice to be able to walk in as if he owned the place, since he had just as much right to be there that day as Stein did himself.

Stein's secretary was a petite young woman with impeccably groomed blonde hair, sharp blue eyes that missed nothing and a deep V in her blouse. Her little Y necklace was meant to draw the eye down to the cleavage on display, and Eames was sure that it was meant to distract and judge all of the people that would potentially do business with Stein. Eames was unfailingly polite to the secretary, calling her by name and making sure to keep eye contact. That seemed to earn him a pleased smile, and he was buzzed into Stein's office without delay. Given the hieroglyphic scribbles on the desk calendar in front of her, Eames was sure that behaving in a professional manner just fast tracked him through Stein's appointments.

The executive still had his severe and sour look. He sat behind a monstrous mahogany desk that no doubt cost nearly as much as the entire enterprise he had paid for. It was meant to intimidate, but Eames didn't intimidate easily. He simply strode to the two leather chairs poised in front of that massive desk, undid the button at his waist and sat down gracefully without being asked to do so. It made Stein's eye twitch, but the man remained silent. Eames was sure it had nothing to do with the USP Compact tucked beneath the vest, as it was still hidden from view.

Stein had paid quite a bit of money already as down payment. While he could cite his business ethic as a reason to trust him to pay the rest of the promised money, Eames didn't trust him. Stein was a shrewd businessman and not opposed to underhanded tactics. Eames and his team didn't officially exist, weren't on the books. They were shadows, now figments of a man's tangled dreams. It would be easy to simply back out of their deal and not pay up, just as it would be easy to take him out into a back alley and put a bullet between his eyes. Eames hadn't survived this long by trusting everyone he met, and caution kept him alive.

He passed Eames a slim manila folder. "These are the accounts with the rest of the fees," he said smoothly, as if this was an ordinary business transaction.

Eames behaved accordingly, taking the folder with a nod. "My thanks for such reliability, Herr Stein," he replied evenly. He opened the attaché case and produced the folder with Bianca's recreated work. "Because my team's work is not necessarily as reliable, I took the liberty of obtaining information that may be of use to you."

Stein lofted an eyebrow and leaned back in his massive armchair. "You assured me that you could do the job."

"He was militarized," Eames said shortly, pushing the folder of extracted information across Stein's desk. Surprise flitted across the older man's features for an instant, then they smoothed out into detached disinterest. "The initial reports for expenses and expectations had been done with the understanding that our subject had no awareness of the technology. Since he clearly had undergone training, I can no longer make the guarantee that they will miss their September deadline even though we have done everything we could to ensure that."

"September?" Stein repeated, all semblance of disinterest disappearing from his features. "So soon, then?"

"Hence the insurance policy we obtained," Eames replied, tapping the folder he had pushed across the desk. "My team and I do good work, Herr Stein."

"Yes. Yes, you did come highly recommended." Stein's voice was distant, and he opened the manila folder in front of him. His brows furrowed; Eames didn't think he could understand the esoteric information that Bianca had painstakingly memorized. "This is..."

"What he and the team have been working on. I couldn't tell you much regarding the specifics since I'm no plastics expert or pharmacologist. But I'm sure that your own teams of scientists could make use of such things. "

"It would speed our own development teams along the way."

"If Meier's training allows him to shake off our suggestions, your own teams won't be too far behind. Columbia Industries won't have as large an advance time."

Stein shut the folder with a decisive nod. "Any advantage in the field is a good one."

"Of course," Eames replied smoothly. He slid the folder with the payment information into his attaché case.

"This was extra information," Stein commented, tapping the folder.

"Yes, it was."

"Are they aware that you obtained it?"

Eames gave Stein a level stare. "He is aware of nothing at this time, Herr Stein."

Stein drummed his fingers on the top of his desk for a moment. He leaned forward and touched the intercom. "Greta, wire an additional forty thousand Euros into the account we validated this morning." He waited for his secretary's confirmation, then leaned back in his chair. "Extra work should be rewarded."

"You are most fair," Eames replied.

"It does, of course, ensure your silence on the matter. It wouldn't do to have anyone in the field aware that we are utilizing such technologies."

"Privacy is very important," Eames agreed with an amiable nod. "I do hope that our association proves to be a pleasant one for you."

Stein smiled thinly, making him seem even older and imposing. "Of course. I will contact you should the need arise for future appointments of this nature."

"I look forward to it," Eames answered, rising at the clear dismissal.

There was the faint sound of an alarm, and Stein pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket to look at. He frowned slightly after a few pokes at the device. For a half second, Eames wondered what kinds of contact information would be on that Blackberry, and how much it would be worth on the black market. He wouldn't dare cross this man, however. Eames might have those greedy urges on occasion, but he wasn't stupid or suicidal.

"Is there something wrong, Herr Stein?" he asked, an edge of concern in his tone.

Stein blinked, then looked up. "No, not at all. Our business is concluded satisfactorily. There is merely another meeting I must go to."

"Ah. In that case," Eames began, extending his hand toward Stein. "I won't keep you. Everything should work as planned."

Stein shook his hand firmly, less prickly toward him now that the job was done. Even Greta the secretary seemed to be more friendly toward him, and Eames actually stayed behind to flirt with her for a few moments. Stein rushed out of his office after he had Greta call for his usual driver, security staff and limousine. He didn't notice Eames at all, which wasn't particularly insulting. Now that he seemed to have Greta's express permission to flirt and ogle, Eames was taking advantage. He pocketed her phone number, though he doubted he would keep contact with her for long. He would stick around at least until the accounts cleared and he could pay off the rest of his team, then disappear. She seemed less interested in a long term relationship anyway, so it would probably work out to everyone's satisfaction.

Because he had tarried with Greta, Eames saw Stein's limousine get into a car accident. He had been about to give his cab driver further directions, and stopped abruptly. He frowned at it, feeling as though there was something off about the whole situation. Yes, the pouring rain provided a reasonable explanation why the limo might have been hit, but Eames' instincts were on alert. There was an ambulance on the scene almost entirely too quickly, and Stein's guards seemed overly protective of the man. Eames didn't recognize the paramedics at first, but then he thought he noticed a familiar profile as the cab drove past the ambulance. A second look confirmed his suspicion, and he directed the taxi driver to pull off to the side of the road. He inspected the ambulance closely, ignoring the driver's bored expression. It _looked_ like an actual ambulance and a superficial look had made everything seem like it was legitimate. Of course, he knew full well how easy it could be to simply look the part and have something else in mind entirely.

Smiling, Eames had the driver follow it once it started moving. This ought to be interesting.

***

The ambulance parked at Franziskus, bypassing the closer Schlosspark hospital. Eames thought it was a rather curious move, though it made sense as soon as he saw Bone exit the ambulance with a sour expression on his face. Eames made sure that he was out of his line of sight; once upon a time he had worked with Bone, and they hadn't parted on the best of terms. There was enough going on at the moment that Eames didn’t particularly want the dark haired man to start taking it out on him.

Besides, the two men starting to leave the ambulance on foot were much more interesting, especially the blond man. Most of Meier’s shooters bore a striking resemblance to him, including the shadowy shape that had been at the house that managed to shoot him.

That explained the militarization, then. Eames was staring right at the man that managed to do it, bypassing all of Jenny’s background checks. That was impressive, even if Eames didn’t want to have any kind of grudging respect for the man. The man next to the blond was slim, dark haired and dressed like another paramedic. The look in his eyes was sharp and assessing, and he hurried along the blond without missing a beat in taking in their surroundings. Point, Eames guessed, and likely a good one by the way he moved.

Well, then. Time to meet the competition.

Eames directed the cab driver to pick up the two men, as if that had been his intention all along. The driver complied, bringing the cab alongside them. They ducked into the backseat, dripping wet and startled to see someone else in the cab as well.

"Good day, gentlemen," Eames said, turning his head and letting his lips twist a little as he contemplated them. "Where to?"

The blond man looked completely floored by Eames' presence in the taxi cab. There was a measure of recognition in his eyes, though Eames knew for a fact that they hadn't ever met before. He stared at Eames, his hand dipping into his pocket. Whatever item he was holding seemed to bring him back into the present, but he still glanced to the cab driver as if expecting something horrible to happen.

The dark haired man glanced between Eames and the blond man warily. "Cobb?"

Ah. That meant this was the American pair that Jenny had told him about. Dominic Cobb was the blond man, which meant that the point was Arthur. Cobb took in a sharp breath and managed to fit a smile into place. "Mr. Eames, isn't it?" Arthur started, but Cobb reached out and gave his wrist a squeeze to keep him still. "I expected that we'd meet sooner or later, but maybe not this soon."

"I couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet the new Americans on this side of the pond," Eames replied, smirk still firmly in place. "Now then. Where were you headed? The driver's waiting for a destination."

Arthur shifted anxiously, and didn't relax even after the taxi cab driver began heading toward the hotel that he had named. "How did you know to find us here?" he asked. "Did Jensen sell us out, too? Not even he knew we were going after Stein today."

Eames snorted and refrained from rolling his eyes. "Sell out?" He didn't quite stop himself from raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought you knew the man. Jensen's actions can't be described in such petty terms." He simply leaned back in the seat, the same confident expression still on his face, as if the thought that Jensen had also worked with these two didn't bother him in the slightest. Which it didn't, actually. He knew the score with Jensen.

"As it happened, I had my own dealings with Herr Stein today. And the very lovely Greta, though I don't believe you've met the young lady." He smiled at Cobb, though there was a bit of an edge in his gaze. "Then again, she doesn't need to learn to shoot at projections, does she?"

Cobb had the air of someone tired and long suffering about him, and clearly Eames' innuendo was pushing him past his limits. "What do you want?" he asked bluntly. "Are you going to turn us in?"

"He can try," Arthur muttered. "And see how far he gets."

Eames actually laughed, amused. "You haven't been at this very long have you?" he asked, a measure of condescension in his tone. He looked them over carefully as his laughter died, and saw how tired they seemed. Whatever they were looking for, it had to have been a difficult job. "What is it? Didn't get what you wanted from Herr Stein? He's a tough old nut to crack, that's for certain. He must have been a joy to work on."

Eames looked at Arthur's tense expression. He was likely a little monkey wrench in their getaway plans, which would drive any point man worth his salt crazy. Eames assessed the two American men and quickly came to a decision; Jenny had heard good things about them and Jensen had thought well enough of them to give them a high profile job. It was possibly worth keeping tabs on them for future work. "Let me give you a bit of advice regarding how it works on this side of the pond, eh? The authorities are not the ones that you truly have to worry about. The worst they do is lock you up, after all."

"For some people, being locked up is the worst they can do," Cobb said grimly.

Eames frowned thoughtfully. He suddenly thought of Sergei, trapped in limbo. It was generally thought of as a fate worse than death. "Indeed."

Cobb's eyes tensed a fraction and Arthur looked discomfited; Eames could only assume that he had struck a nerve somehow. They were frazzled and tired, and Arthur was appearing distinctly unhappy as well. "So you're not going to turn us in," Cobb said.

"Now why would I want to do that?" Eames asked him, puzzled. "Few enough good players in Europe at the moment to work with, after all. Most seem to burn themselves out after a few jobs and aren't in it for the long run. You just appeared on the scene recently, from what I gather, though your contacts are good."

"And?" Arthur asked when Eames trailed off, brows furrowing a bit in concentration.

"I'm taking care of a few loose ends here in Berlin, but I'll be leaving soon enough. It is a very lovely place to visit." Eames eyed the two of them. "You've made my job a bit more difficult, but it remains to be seen if it all worked out or not. Such is the nature of the field," he added with a careless shrug.

"So you've done it already," Cobb blurted. "You were at Stein's collecting payment." He paused but Eames didn't reply immediately. "Did it work?"

Eames gave away nothing in his face. There was no need to allow his frustration to come to the surface. "Only time will tell."

The cab slowed outside the Marriott, and when Cobb reached for his wallet Eames abruptly smiled and motioned for him not to bother. "On me," he said. "Consider it a friendly gesture from a possible future colleague."

Arthur frowned incredulously. "After all that, you want to work together?"

He smiled as the taxi pulled up in front of their hotel. "You can find me through the usual channels. Jensen always keeps in touch with the ones in the business worth knowing." His lips quirked, and he offered his hand. "No need to hold grudges, is there?"

Cobb shook his hand despite Arthur's look of disapproval. "None at all."

Eames laughed. "Very well, then. I look forward to seeing what you're capable of." Both men exited and Eames could practically see the wheels turning in Arthur's mind. It made him want to needle the point man just to see if he would be able to hold his temper in check. "Hopefully the two of you remain on good terms with Jensen. It would be a shame to lose colleagues I had only just met."

He shut the taxi door and gestured for the driver to move. Exuding such boundless confidence grew exhausting after a while.

***

Eames followed the business and technology sections of Berlin papers closely in the months following the inception attempt on Meier. He kept mostly out of sight, though Jensen did throw a simple documentation forgery his way. It kept his hands busy, though it didn't do much for his state of mind. He wasn't sure if the American duo would really throw him to the wolves or not, so to speak. Cobb was by reputation a bit brash and abrasive at times, and didn't seem to really have his feet under him in the dream share community. Arthur would be the one to watch, as he seemed sharp and cautious. From their brief meeting, Eames guessed that he liked being in control of the situation, of knowing where everyone was at all times. That sort of thing made for an excellent point man, though Eames knew that Bone never worked with the unskilled or untrained. He could afford to pick and choose the teams he worked with, so Eames kept Cobb and Arthur's names in mind for the future.

September arrived in Berlin as it usually did, and Eames' gaze on the Columbia Industries sharpened accordingly. This was the month to see if his inception worked or not. He, Jenny and Bianca had done their best when they had gone under with Meier, but the militarization had changed their plans drastically. He still believed that they had the proper depth necessary for a successful inception, but he couldn't be certain that the ideas planted had grown to their natural conclusion. Too much had gotten muddled in the second layer.

Just when Eames got his hopes up, Columbia Industries announced their new instrumentation products in the final week of September. Production would begin in November rather than October as planned, but the announcement was still made within the month of September as Edina Weston had intended.

The inception failed.

Eames packed up and headed out of Berlin quickly. Markneuheiten followed suit with their own announcement of instrumentation products, but Columbia was still planning to be first on the market. Markneuheiten would be a close second, and Eames didn't imagine that Stein would be particularly pleased with that, especially after the great expense of the inception attempt.

Bianca was in the Middle East somewhere fulfilling a favor for a contact of hers, but Jenny was in Geneva. "We keep meeting here sooner or later," Eames remarked as he slid into a seat across from her at a sidewalk café. Jenny merely smiled and continued sipping her coffee as if she had expected to see him. Perhaps she had. "It failed."

She nodded and put her coffee cup down. "I saw the announcement in the news. Too bad. I really thought we had that one for a while there."

Eames mirrored her slight smile. "It was still an adventure."

Jenny laughed, a sound like the tinkling of little bells. "There is always that. You always get involved in the most interesting things. That is a talent, Eames."

He grinned at her and lounged in the seat. He ordered tea and biscuits when the waiter passed by, and simply smiled at her. "I do try my best, after all. Any idea where you're off to next?"

"Why? Have a job in mind?"

"Not at the moment. I just thought I'd let you know about this job, since you were so interested."

"I'll pass it along to Bianca, then." Eames nodded his thanks. "I've been in contact with Jensen recently, though there's nothing I would need you for."

"Just as well. I do have a friend I should visit."

From Geneva, Eames flew to Istanbul. He was not as hunted as Yusuf had implied months ago, though the passage of time likely helped. Eames found the hospital room easily, and slipped inside during visiting hours. He smiled at the blonde woman lying in the bed, a wrapped bundle in blue cradled protectively in her arms. "Hello, Katya."

She looked up at Eames with a tired smile. "Figures you would hear."

"Well, they don't all hate me in these parts."

Laughing, Katya gestured for him to sit near her. "I should be heading home tomorrow. They say the incision is healing nicely. And Mikhail is doing well."

Eames peeked at the baby boy in her arms, then looked at her solemnly. "Sergei still sleeps. I asked Ivan about him before coming to visit you."

She nodded and pressed her lips to her son's forehead. "Mikhail will still know of his father, of the good he had done for the family." Katya gave Eames a sad smile. "We knew the risks. We just never thought they applied to us."

"Most don't." Eames leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry, Katya. I will do whatever I can to help if you need me to."

"I appreciate it. The biggest favor you can do for me is to never fall into limbo."

"Not part of my plan," Eames assured her. He was terrified of it, and actually would have preferred to be caught by Interpol. No one came back from limbo, while there have been escapes from various prisons.

Katya smiled. "Then we will have a place for you here for a time, before you need to move again." She laughed at Eames' surprised look. "Oh, I know you. You can't stay in one place for too long. Plus, it is starting to get colder. You'll want to move on to someplace warm soon enough. Perhaps Mombasa again."

Eames shrugged and smiled. "As long as I'm with friends."

"You are definitely that. It just took time to convince the others. You are welcome here with us as long as you need it." She gave him a teasing grin. "Someone has to help me change and feed the baby, _da?"_

Laughing along with her, Eames could only agree. It was good to have things back to normal.

The End


End file.
